


Hail to the King

by plzdean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Arranged Marriage, Character Death, Crowley King of Hell, Death, Deception, Demon Castiel, Demons, Forbidden Love, King Bartholomew, M/M, Prince Balthazar, Prince Castiel, Violence, description of fight scenes, low level gore, medieval/fantasy themed battles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-03 18:43:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 36,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1754417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plzdean/pseuds/plzdean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an encounter in the hills involving two hooded figures leaves Prince Castiel and his squire Dean only just escaping with their lives, tensions begin arise between two kingdoms: Hell, and the Stone City. King Bartholomew plots to defeat the opposing kingdom until a deal is made against the young prince's will, and the two kingdoms join in order to ensure peace.<br/>But Bartholomew has other plans, and soon enough Castiel discovers it and formulates a plan of his own to take his father down. Only, as Castiel's plan begins to take shape, Dean begins to doubt that loving Castiel is the right thing to do, especially considering the circumstances they are both under. How will the two kingdoms keep the peace after all plans are uncovered?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was late afternoon and the sun stretched far over the castle grounds projecting tall dark shadows down the sides of the valley, on which the castle stood atop. The water at the foot of the valley glistened orange and gold as the clouds began to fade into the darkening sky. People in the Stone City surrounding the castle were packing up their stalls and mounting their horses for the short ride across the three bridges back to the villages that sat sleepily across all directions from the lake. And above the sound of the horse hooves and voices of men as they said their goodbyes for the day, the distant echo of a dragon’s call could be heard from somewhere far away.

 

Castiel – the youngest son of Bartholomew – made his way sleepily down the darkening stone hallways of the castle towards his chamber. Although many of the castle windows faced east, the setting sun did not always sufficiently illuminate the castle halls during the evenings. The orange projected onto the marble walls gave the castle a relaxing but lethargic feeling that seemed to set into the bodies of everybody within it as the day came to a close. It had always been that way ever since the castle was built nearly 500 years ago when Castiel’s great, great grandfather ruled the kingdom.

He stepped into his sleeping quarters and shut the large wooden door securely behind himself, sliding the metal latch quickly out of habit. He then shrugged out of his red velvet cloak and hung it on one of the steel pegs hammered into the wall, and made his way towards his dressing table where his pyjamas were kept. Seconds before he was about to pull his shirt off over his head, an unfamiliar figure stepped out of his bathroom, startling the young prince into grabbing his sword from where he had left it standing up against the wall that morning.

The figure startled too and held his hands up in retreat. “I’m sorry, my lord, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Castiel kept the sword outstretched and it began to set a deep ache into his wrist. The figure stepped forwards slightly into the light, showing his sharp jaw and sturdy structure, but with another wave of the sword from Castiel, he instantly stepped back.

“Who are you?” The prince demanded.

“I’m your new Squire, sir.”

“And your name?”

“Winchester. Dean Winchester.”

“A knight?”

“No, sir. Not yet.”

Castiel thought to himself and lowered his sword. “What happened to Bobby, my previous squire?”

“Your father thought it would be more practical for your squire to be somebody of your own age, my lord. He suggested it would be better for you.”

Castiel frowned and forced his sword back into it’s sheath maybe a little too hard. “Better for me? How?”

Dean shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Your father is concerned that your lack of friends will result in you becoming a recluse, like your uncle Chuck.”

“So what, my father sent me a _friend_? I don’t need a friend. I need a _squire_. You’re not even a knight…how are you supposed to look out for me if you can’t fight? How old are you anyway? 15?”

Dean chuckled to himself, but Castiel shot him a look which told him to stop. “I’m 17, same as you.  Besides, I might not be the best with a sword, but I can sure take any son-of-a-bitch down with a bow and arrow.”

“I don’t believe that will be of much help at close range.” Castiel muttered as he picked up his neatly folded pyjamas and walked slowly over to his bed where he sat down. He began unbuckling his boots when he realised Dean was still standing there in his room watching him uncertainly. “What are you waiting for? You’re dismissed.”

***

Castiel woke early the next morning, rehearsing what he would say to his father when demanding Bobby be reinstated as his squire. Bobby might not have been the world’s most enthralling person to have around at all times, but Castiel sure felt a lot safer in his company than he did with Dean. Besides, Castiel’s lack of friends didn’t necessarily mean he’d become a recluse like his uncle – he just preferred to be alone in his room or the library or riding his horse across the valley as opposed to drinking ale with his brothers in an old inn surrounded by filthy old men in the towns of the Stone City.

He got dressed into his cotton shirt with his black and gold overcoat, and buttoned it down the front. He pulled his jodhpurs on and grabbed his riding boots from where they sat on a wooden rack inside his wardrobe, and checked himself once in the mirror on the wall. Once he was completely satisfied with his appearance, he grabbed his belt from the floor and began fastening it around his waist as he made his way towards through the castle towards the stables where he’d surely find his father preparing for his early morning ride.

However just as he reached the tall marble staircase, he heard somebody calling for him from behind.

Castiel turned around to see Dean jogging down the hall towards him, carrying something outstretched in his hand.

“Castiel! Hold on!” he panted. “You forgot your sword!”

Castiel rolled his eyes and sighed. “I’m going riding. I don’t need my sword.”

Dean’s smiled faded quickly from his face. “Oh.”

“It’s fine. I’ll just take it.” Castiel sighed, slipping the sheath into his belt. He turned away from Dean and began to make his way down the staircase, only noticing that Dean had been following him once he reached the bottom. He sighed for what felt like the millionth time that day and turned to him. “You really don’t need to follow me, Dean, I’m only going riding.”

“My orders were to accompany you at all times, my lord. King’s proposal, not mine.”

Castiel looked down at his feet. He knew he couldn’t exactly complain to his father about Dean while Dean was standing there – as much as he didn’t want him around, he didn’t want to upset him – so decided to change his plans. “Can you ride?”

“What?” Dean coughed.

“Can you ride?”

“You mean like guys-”

“Horses, Dean. Can you ride _horses_.” Castiel rolled his eyes.

“Oh, right, no. That’s one type of riding I _can’t_ do.” Dean laughed weakly.

Castiel took a death breath and raised his eyebrows as he turned to keep walking. “Well we’re going riding anway.”

***

They walked in silence to the south stables (his father would be at the east stables where all the royal horses were kept) and Castiel directed Dean into tacking up the horses. Dean clearly had no experience with horses, so the experience was slightly more tedious than he had anticipated it to be.

“Okay…now put the saddle pads on the horses’ backs…no, Dean, they’re upside down…That’s the horse’s neck, Dean. Urgh, just let me do it, okay?”

“That’s how I did it!” Dean protested as he watched Castiel adjust the pads. The servants stood watching at the other side of the barn began to laugh and Dean gave them both the finger.

Dean didn’t say much else as Castiel prepared the horses the correct way, saddle and all. He just watched and pretended to understand what was going on until Castiel declared the horses ready to ride.

 

“Okay.” Castiel said, stepping back from the horses to make a few final checks. “Now we mount them.”

Dean watched as Castiel placed his foot in the stirrups and swiftly pulled himself up onto the horse’s back. The Dean attempted to do the same. He grabbed the horse’s mane and couldn’t quite get his leg up high enough to get onto it’s back. He then slipped, and with one foot still in the stirrup, fell to the floor. Castiel and the servants burst out laughing but Dean didn’t find it too funny; he just unhooked his foot from the stirrup and brushed himself off as he stood up, face reddening with embarrassment.

After three more attempts that ended up in the same result, Castiel ordered the servants to help him up onto the horse, and finally they were on their way.

 

The journey out of the castle grounds took longer than it should have done, mostly because both Dean and the horse he was riding were both as suborn as hell, and whenever Castiel suggested they ride anything faster than a trot, Dean would begin to complain.

 Once they finally made it out into the valley and across one of the three bridges, Castiel kicked his horse to cantor, and once Dean’s shouts in protest were out of ear-shot, he began to gallop. The early morning sun washed over Castiel’s face as he emerged out of the castle’s shadow and embarked faster up the hill. It gave him a false feeling of unconditional freedom, as if he could carry on riding like this and never have to face his duties as a prince or a knight or a heir to the throne ever again. Castiel couldn’t understand why, but it felt somewhat liberating. But he knew that as a prince he should be loyal to his duties to the royal family – he should be willing to die for his duties, not want to run away from them like that.

He looked back once at Dean, just as his horse reared and broke into a fast gallop in the wrong direction – Castiel could hear his yelling – and the prince made his way faster up to the top of the other side of the valley opposite the castle: an unannounced race he knew he’d win.

Once he reached the top, the young prince looked back down the valley in search for Dean, and found him making slow progress. Castiel looked back ahead of him and took in the beauty of the view; the way the new day’s sun reflected off the water in the valley and the windows of the castle; the way the day was beginning to take shape in the world; birds singing their songs, dragons calling out to each other across the four corners of the kingdom.

Castiel dismounted his horse and sat down cross legged in wait for Dean, absentmindedly picking the grass as he looked out across the valley. Fifteen minutes later Dean emerged at the top of the hill and practically threw himself from the saddle in an attempt to dismount. Castiel rolled his eyes and stood up to greet him.

“What _exactly_ was the point in this trek?” Dean spat out of breath as he picked himself up off the ground, rubbing his elbow with a gloved hand.

“If you’re going to be my new squire you’re going to have to get used to riding. I was just seeing what your abilities were.”

Dean looked horrified. “You put me through all _that_ just to see my abilities? I told you I couldn’t ride.”

 “Well now you can.” Castiel said simply. “Just about, anyway.”

Dean huffed and turned back to his horse, only to be distracted by the view of the valley and the water and the way the castle’s shadow engulfed nearly half of the landscape.

Castiel turned to his horse to feed it a carrot from the pouch on his belt when he spotted something laying a few metres away in the grass. Slowly he made his way towards it; it was small and pale…it looked rubbery and smooth. He stood over the object and turned it over with his foot, only to reveal five fingers, and a mangled bloody bone jutting out from the base of the object. Castiel stared wide-eyed, horrified, at the decapitated hand, but when he turned back to alert Dean he saw a dark hooded figure fast approaching his squire, bloodied dagger in hand.

“DEAN!” Castiel screamed. “WATCH OUT!”

Dean looked around suddenly to the sound of Castiel’s voice, only to find himself confronted by the figure. Dean’s first reaction was to punch it, but it didn’t react all that much and Dean staggered backwards from the force of the impact, clutching his bruising knuckles. Castiel grabbed his sword from the sheath in his belt and stepped towards Dean, only to find another hooded figure in his way. The young prince slammed the sword hard into the figure’s chest and it fell to its knees with a gasp, dark blood dripping down the sliver blade of his sword. He twisted it once and with a soft crunch the figure fell dead into the blade.

Castiel kicked it hard from his sword and shoved the bleeding body out of his way before sprinting fast up behind the figure confronting Dean, swinging the blade so fast that he thought it would slip out of his grip. The figure swiped at Dean with the dagger he was holding, clipping Dean’s cheek with the edge of the blade. But suddenly the force of which Castiel had swung the blade, and the anger of which Castiel felt towards the figure for hurting his squire, came down slicing clean into its neck, causing its hooded head to come off in one clean blow.

Dean stood in shock for a few seconds as the body fell limp to the floor with blood spilling weakly from where it’s artery had stood once-intact. Castiel panted heavily as he looked round for any sign of other hooded figures, but thankfully, in that moment, they were alone.

“We’ve got to get out of here before more of those things come back to get us.” Castiel said quickly, wiping the dark blood from his sword on into his jodhpurs before placing it back in it’s sheath. He turned to his horse and mounted quickly, giving Dean an extra thirty seconds to do the same.

“What the hell were they?!” Dean coughed as the two of them broke into a fast gallop.

“No idea.” Castiel muttered as they made their way fast back towards one of the three bridges. “But it certainly wasn’t human.”

There was a long silence as the two of them rode pale-faced back towards the security of the castle, only to be broken by Dean muttering, “Bet you’re grateful I remembered your goddamn sword.”

***

Once the youngest prince and his squire had returned to the safe confines of the castle walls, they alerted the king’s guard of their encounter with the strange hooded figures up in the valley. Once the king was informed of the situation, he ordered the guards to patrol the surrounding valleys and to return the bodies of the figures back to the castle for identification. As news of the prince’s strange encounter reached the Stone City and the villages in the surrounding valley by the water, the town’s people were sent into a frenzy of panic as they desperately collected their children from the streets and locked their doors. Nobody was sure what it was exactly that Castiel and Dean had met up on the hill top, but circulating rumours spoke of children of the devil himself.

 

“Dean, you really don’t need to escort me to my quarters.” Castiel protested as he made his way quickly up the marble staircase. Castle staff bustled quickly past him; he hadn’t seen the castle react like this to a situation since one of the local townspeople was found charred, floating face down in the water.

“You don’t honestly think I’m going to leave you alone for even a minute after that encounter back in the valley, do you?”

“It’s my room, Dean. I’ll lock the door. I’ll be safe there. Besides, nobody can access the castle that easily.”

Dean sighed and ran a hand over his face.

“Besides, I’m clearly not the one who needs protecting.” Castiel muttered, glancing from his sheath to the small cut on Dean’s cheek. Dean looked away in defeat and Castiel carried on towards his door, only to be stopped by Dean once more.

“I wasn’t armed. That’s all. If I’d had a sword of my own I would’ve been able to protect myself.”

“Maybe you’re right, but I still don’t need you to protect me when I’m in my own quarters. Bobby understood the boundaries, Dean; and if you’re honestly willing to be my squire I suggest you do too.”

“Boundaries? I’m just trying to do my job.”

“Your job is to assist me with my duties as a prince. Just…go and get your face cleaned up, and I’ll see you at dinner.” Castiel said dismissively, stepping away from his squire. He put one hand on the door handle before Dean stopped him once more.

“Castiel.”

The prince stopped.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For saving me.” Dean said quietly. “You saved me from that creepy son-of-a-bitch back there. You didn’t have to do that.”

Castiel frowned again. “Just because I’m the King’s son, doesn’t mean I can’t be decent human being when I want to be. I did what any other person would do in that situation.”

Dean just shrugged and looked down at his feet and said, “I guess. I’ll see you at dinner.” And then he walked away.


	2. Chapter 2

Nearly a month passed and Castiel hadn’t heard talk of his experience on the hilltop with the hooded figures amongst the castle staff for a while. The hooded figures weren’t a dead topic of conversation, however, because since the initial attack there had been numerous other sightings of them in the hills, just watching, waiting. Thankfully there had been no more fatalities, but that was probably more due to the fact that the kingsguard refused to approach them, for fear that if they survived a fight with their lives and bodies intact, the figures would approach their homes in the village as they slept and kill their children and burn their homes.

Castiel was slowly getting used to having Dean around rather than Bobby – but getting used to him being there sure did take some time. Bobby would never usually interfere with what he was doing; he’d usually just sit across the room with a book in hand sipping wine, while Castiel went about doing whatever he wanted to do. Dean however was different. Dean would hardly stop talking to him, and he was a nosey son-of-a-bitch too. Every time the young prince pulled a book out of the book shelf in the library, Dean would question him.

‘ _What’s that book about? Who wrote it? Is it any good?’_

To which Castiel would turn to him and sigh, _‘I don’t know, Dean. I haven’t read it yet’._

But Castiel didn’t mind Dean’s constant company. It made a change to sitting in silence constantly. Besides, Dean was slowly becoming better rider, meaning Castiel could take him out further into the valleys for hours at a time, without fear that Dean would fall off and break a bone and he’d have to resort to carrying him home.

After four weeks of Dean being by his side at all times, Castiel was beginning to actually quite enjoy his company – something he thought he’d never think about another human being before. Dean just seemed so easy to get along with. With Bobby there were constant disagreements over what he wanted to eat and when to go riding. Dean didn’t mind following Castiel around the pitch black woods at midnight on horseback, whereas Bobby flat-out refused to open the door for him when he pitched the idea. Dean didn’t mind holding buckets of maggots for Castiel to use as bait when he went fishing in the water in the valley, whereas Bobby would take one look at the thing and state ‘ _I’m not your goddamn slave, boy’_.

In fact Castiel found it hard to find things that Dean _wasn’t_ willing to do. He had re-arranged Castiel’s bookshelf in alphabetical order, even though he couldn’t actually read; he polished every sword, every belt, and every pair of shoes the prince owned, even though that was the maid’s job; he gutted and skinned every fish Castiel caught, then ordered it to be cooked for the two of them just how Castiel ordered it (and his orders for the cooks were extremely picky). He even went into the local villages and retrieved the most obscure demands the prince could think up, like seven bars of dragon’s milk soap and a hair comb made from the bone of a cow. Castiel tried over and over again to push Dean’s limits, but there was simply nothing his new squire wouldn’t do for him (except hook up with the fifty-five year old cat woman who sold her kittens on a street corner in the Stone City because Castiel ‘felt sorry for her’ – that was his only exception).

In the end Castiel accepted that his new squire wasn’t such a bad thing in the end. Besides, maybe he really did need a friend after all. He hadn’t realised how good it was to have a friend around until one day Dean was too busy running errands for the chief of the king’s guard and Castiel was forced to spend the whole day more or less alone. (After dinner he made sure Dean wasn’t busy with anyone and had time to spend with him for the rest of the evening, though).

***

“What’re you writing? A love letter to a secret girl in a distant realm?” Dean smiled jokingly as he left the spot by the window where he had been looking out onto the castle grounds. He strode slowly over to where Castiel was writing at his desk and stopped behind him; the prince looked up at him briefly.

“No. I’m writing in my journal.” Castiel said flatly.

“You have a _diary_?” Dean said, raising his eyebrows a manner of disbelief.

“It’s a _journal_.” Castiel corrected.

Dean huffed and short laugh. “What are you writing about? Anything about your handsome young squire?”

“Yes, actually.” Castiel muttered, dipping his quill momentarily into his ink pot, before returning it carefully to his page. “I’m writing about the hooded figures on the hill and how _I_ had to save you from them.”

Dean opened his mouth to protest with the usual argument of ‘but I wasn’t armed!’ but he closed it again.

Castiel looked up and smirked at his expression of defeat.

“Why are you writing about that anyway? That was weeks ago.”

“I know. But it seems I’ve been so busy since you were appointed my new squire that I hadn’t found the time to write about anything until now.”

Dean let the corners of his mouth twitch up a little, but wiped the expression from his face as a loud knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Dean walked swiftly across the room and unlocked it, allowing one of the king’s guardsmen to step inside.

“My lord.” He bowed. “The king demands your presence in the great hall.”

“Why?”

“That information is disclosed. All I’m aware of is that he’s called every person of importance in the kingdom to assemble n the great hall. The meeting will commence momentarily. I suggest you go, my lord, as I’m certain this meeting will be of great relevance to you.”

Dean looked over at Castiel and shrugged. The prince quickly replaced his journal in the drawer of his desk and walked quickly across the room towards them.

***

Once they reached the great hall, Castiel found that it was full of lords and ladies from across his father’s kingdom; people he’d not seen since he was a child, now with fat bellies and five children with golden jewels incrusted in their vests; and people he’d never seen before, but had surely heard their names a thousand times in conversation. He pushed through the crowds, with Dean trailing close behind him, and took his place beside his two older brothers, Gabriel and Balthazar.

“Any idea what this could be about?” Dean whispered to the young prince, who shook his head quickly in response.

Suddenly the tall doors at the other end of the room opened and the King entered the room. Every lord and lady, squire and guard, got down onto one knee out of respect, leaving the princes and the queen to stand attentively beside the tall golden throne waiting for him to take his seat.

The king took his seat and gestured for everybody to stand again, and with a fluttering of coats and murmurs, everybody rose. The room suddenly fell silent – so silent he could nearly hear the sound of the tapestries hanging from the ceiling swaying in the slight breeze from his father’s entrance.

“You’re probably wondering why I called you here, my lords, my ladies, my sons and wife, my people.” King Bartholomew started. “Well it’s simple – this kingdom is under threat from an enemy we were certain had diminished last time our kingdom battled theirs, nearly one hundred years ago.”

There was a flutter of panic sent throughout the room and Castiel felt Dean tense up at his side. The prince looked back at his squire and stepped back towards him a little – not noticeably – but enough to try and make him feel just a little bit safer.

“But it seems that is not the case. For a century it seems this other force has been slowly rebuilding, repowering, and reengineering their kingdom in an attempt to take ours once and for all.

“We know this because of the monsters they sent in an attempt to ambush my son and his squire in the valley about a month ago. These monsters are not like us – they’re not human. Well, they were human once upon a time, but they’ve been dead for nearly five hundred years. What’s _inside_ of them isn’t human – it’s the farthest thing from human anything can exist. They are demons – Crowley’s demons – soldiers of the king of Hell.”

The people broke into a panic, mumbling fearfully to each other, shifting uncomfortably in their seats. Castiel felt his mother’s hand appear on his shoulder and he looked over at her with fear-filled eyes. He didn’t know what they were talking about – he didn’t even believe demons really existed until then. Sure, he’d heard about demons in the books his uncle Chuck used to read him. But these stories were too horrific to be real, weren’t they? The stories told of horrific beasts who, if you looked upon their faces for even a second, your mind would begin to dissolve and your eyes would bleed through your skull. The stories told of the pain they inflicted on those who survived them: eternity of rotting in the anguished flames of angel’s souls that couldn’t bear to coexist in a world with so much suffering and darkness; tales of torture and sin and desolation.

He felt a bout of cold shivers roll through him until his father regained control of the room and the silence fell once more.

“To many of you, you may never have even heard of such things. And for good reason too – knowing these things exist causes people to live in crippling fear. How could you believe that you were living in safety if these monsters still roamed free? But have faith in my army and my men. We will destroy the kingdom of demons. We will bring them to their knees and make them suffer as they made us suffer five hundred years ago! Nobody threatens my people and attacks my family with intention of war without feeling our wrath. Crowley and his demons _will_ pay!”

Lords and ladies around the room broke into a cheer, but Castiel couldn’t force a sound to escape his throat. His feet were cemented to the ground and his body had frozen still. He was scared. _Terrified_. If such things entered the kingdom, they’d be searching for him and his family. If such things entered the kingdom, he’d surely die a long a painful death.

“Castiel?...Dude…can you hear me?”

He was shaken from his thoughts by Dean’s voice and a hand on his arm. Castiel blinked up at him for a few seconds, allowing his head to clear. Once his eyes focused on Dean, he noticed how pale his squire looked – he was ashen.

“Are you okay?” Castiel asked quietly, turning away from the rest of the crowd.

Dean nodded slightly. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Just kind of scared I guess.” Dean admitted.

Castiel smiled a small, understanding smile. “Father’s army will keep you safe.” He said whispered before turning back.

“Cas? Castiel?” Dean said softly again. The prince looked back at him as Dean asked with more concern than he’d ever displayed for the young prince before, “are _you_ okay?”

Castiel forced a smile and sighed. “Of course.”

As Castiel turned back to the front of the room, he noticed Dean’s hand still sitting on his arm, and hoped for the sake of reassurance that it wouldn’t leave.

 

Just as the lords and ladies filed out of the room to head for dinner in the great hall, his father stopped Castiel with a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back into the room. Dean stood hesitantly beside him, and once the room was final cleared of everybody he was ordered to close the door and wait outside, which he did so without question.

“In light of everything that’s happened lately, I’ve made a few arrangements for you to ensure your safety.” The king smiled warmly.

Castiel looked up at him uncertainly. It wasn’t like his father to be so nice to him – this wasn’t the way his father usually acted when it was just the two of them alone. In fact, as soon as Dean was ordered to stand outside, Castiel could’ve easily predicted what was to follow: he would’ve been unfairly scalded for something that had nothing to do with him whatsoever. In the past it would usually be things, small things, like letting Bobby pass out drunk too often at dinner, or lashing back at Gabriel when he teased him. Castiel didn’t want to smile or speak for fear he’d just be beaten like he usually would. When Castiel’s father was being nice to him, there was usually another side to the situation that Castiel just couldn’t see yet.

“I’ve sent for a friend of mine to collect you and take you out to the mountains where you’ll stay until this whole conflict regarding Crowley and his demons is over. You’ll be safe there. Out of harm.”

“What? You’re sending me away?”

“It’s for the best, Castiel, I couldn’t _bear_ for anything bad to happen to you.” Castiel could sense the falseness in his voice.

“What about Gabriel and Balthazar? Aren’t they coming too?”

“Your brothers are grown and strong, far stronger than you. They’re old enough to fight for me in my armies when a battle is called for. You’re just a weak little child, Castiel, you wouldn’t last a second.”

“I _can_ fight. I’m a knight.” Castiel frowned. His father placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed tightly. It hurt. But Castiel pushed the pain to the back of his mind.

“You’re weak. You’re nothing but a child. You’d only get in the way.”

“What about Dean, my squire? Will he be coming with me?”

The king laughed. “Of course not - he’ll fight for me! Of course he’ll probably die…the younger ones usually do.”

Castiel felt his breath shorten. “I want him to come with me.”

“You won’t need him. He’s barely of much use to you anyway. The only reason I reassigned Bobby was because I needed him in my advisory. Whatever I told Dean about you needing a friend was bullshit – I just had to make it seem like the reason I was degrading my son’s security was because I truly cared for you.”

“That’s not fair.” Castiel cried. “I want Dean to come with me. He’s my friend. He makes me feel safe.”

“ _’He’s my friend! He makes me feels safe!”_  The king mocked. “Oh, grow up, Castiel. You’re seven _teen_ , not seven. You’re acting like a spoilt little child.” The king’s grip on his son’s shoulder was one that turned his knuckles white, and Castiel had to bite his lip in order to stop himself from crying. “Do you have any idea how pathetic you look right now?”

“Let go of me.” Castiel whimpered.

The king ignored him.

“I said, Let Go.”

“I heard you.”

“Get your hand off me right now!” Castiel spat, desperately trying to wriggle free from his father’s grip, only to receive a hard slap across his face that dizzied his vision and made his head spin. The sound of the king’s hand on his son’s cheek rang loudly through the room and the air between them grew extremely cold.

“I’m the only one who gives orders around here, boy, now get the hell out of my sight.”

With a sharp push, Castiel ran towards the door clutching his shoulder in one hand, knowing that the only thing that could possibly stop him from breaking down in tears was the boy standing on the other side of the door.

 

Castiel burst through the doors and spotted Dean straight away on the other side of the corridor standing coolly up against the wall. He grabbed him and pulled him hard around a corner, out of sight of his father and any of the castle staff sure to pass them in the main hall.

“Whoa, steady on, steady on.” Dean laughed. That is, he laughed until he saw that Castiel was desperately trying to hold himself together with tear filled eyes and a reddening face. “Dude, what’s wrong?”

Castiel couldn’t bring himself to look up at Dean. He just stood against the wall with his eyes fixed on the marble floor tightly clutching his throbbing shoulder, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself.

“Cas?”

“I’m fine. Let’s just go and eat.” Castiel mumbled stepping forward dizzily, only to be stopped by a gentle hand on his other shoulder.

“No. You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s wrong. Talk to me, buddy. You need to talk.”

Castiel opened his mouth to speak but he just couldn’t find the words. He looked up at his squire and suddenly found he was closing in on himself and he didn’t think that even Dean would be able to crack him open again.

“Dinner can wait.” Dean sighed with a smile. “And that’s saying something, considering they’re serving my favourite apple pie tonight.”

Castiel didn’t laugh. But, really, when did Castiel ever laugh?

“We’re going for a walk instead.” Dean announced. “We’re going for a walk in the gardens until I’m satisfied that you’re feeling yourself again. Got that?”

Castiel nodded weakly.

***

Castiel hadn’t been into the Castle’s gardens in a considerable amount of time. He’d forgotten about the thousands of colours of the flowers and the way the exotic trees that Castiel couldn’t name towered high, with thin spindly branches that cast shadows like spider’s webs across the paved pathways. He’d forgotten the fresh air that had a certain cleanness that made you long for it – something that was much needed after spending vast amounts of time up in the dark rooms of the castle. And there were birds, _hundreds_ of small red birds, that flitted from tree to tree as if that was the sole reason they were created in this universe.

The late evening sun slashed orange across every surface; it made a change from being stuck in the looming castle shadow sat still across the castle grounds, a darkness that seemed so unfitting to such a beautiful scene. It warmed Castiel’s skin and healed him from the inside; walking in the sun with his best friend at his side made everything feel okay again, and in that moment, nothing else mattered.

“I’d never visited these gardens before.” Dean said quietly as they walked through the maze-like seclusion of the trees. “Not until today of course.”

“Really? I used to play here every day as a child. I used to be amazed by the insects and plants and flowers. My mother used to try and teach me the names of every single one of them, although I could only ever remember three or four at a time. Gabriel used to laugh at me whenever I picked the flowers to give to our mother and the maids and nannies who cared for me. He said I was being a little girl, and when I was a younger I believed that was the worse insult possible. I was wrong, though. Being a girl isn’t a bad thing – I know many people who are girls and I admire them very much for having to put up with us men. Putting up with men is the hardest thing a person can do; they’re all so monstrous and greedy.”

“I wouldn’t say they were _all_ like that.” Dean said, and Castiel braced himself to be hit with the rest of the ‘not all men’ argument, but he wasn’t. “A lot of them are, I agree. I’d even push and say that most of them are. But there are some men that are the complete opposite of that. Men like you.”

Castiel looked up at him. “I’m sure I could be monstrous and greedy given the chance.”

Dean smiled and shook his head. “I’ve been with you every day for over and month and I’ve come to learn that you could never be anything close to monstrous. And you’re the most selfless person I know – that’s pretty good going considering the family you’re from.”

Castiel looked down at his feet.

“I don’t waste my time on monsters, Cas. I don’t waste my time on assholes or jerks or sons-and-bitches who talk shit about my friends. I don’t waste my time on people who don’t deserve it. But I waste my time on you, and I’d waste my time on you for the rest of my life if I had to.”

The prince smiled a small smile down at the ground. He hadn’t realised how close Dean was standing. “Well unfortunately you’re going to have to find someone else to waste your time on.” He said sadly.

“Why?” Dean frowned.

Castiel felt his eyes begin to burn and this time he couldn’t quite manage to hold back the tears. “Because…my father is sending me away.”

“What? Why? Where are you going?”

Castiel mumbled something Dean couldn’t quite make out, and Dean found himself holding the young prince at arm’s length begging him to talk.

“Talk to me, buddy. I need to know where you’re going because I’m coming with you.”

“You can’t - father wants you to fight for him. He’s sending me away to the hills because he's concerned for my safety, what with the demon attack and all the sightings recently …and I’m afraid I will never return to the Stone City again once I leave.”

Dean shook his head angrily. “No.”

“What?”

“You’re not leaving without me. I can’t let you go off somewhere if I can’t guarantee your safety. I won’t allow that. It's my job to protect you, and if I'm not there-”

“There’s nothing you can do, Dean.” Castiel cried, and he felt his knees buckle a little. “I have to go. There’s nothing _anyone_ can do.”


	3. Chapter 3

Dean pleaded with the king, the queen, the royal advisor and the chief of the king’s guard, but the deal had been made final. Castiel was due to be picked up and taken away in little over a week and there was nothing anybody could do to change the king’s mind.

As each hour passed, Castiel grew more and more miserable. Some days he couldn’t even bear to get out of bed for fear that he’d ruin one of the few remaining days left in the Stone City. Dean tried to make the situation a little lighter. He’d joke about riding out into the wilderness to rescue him, and that they’d run away into the forest to live out in hiding until the war with the demons was over. But Castiel never found it particularly funny. He’d just roll over in his bed to face the wall, pull the covers up to his chin and close his eyes. Dean would sigh and get up from the wooden chair by his lord’s bedside and pace around the room a few times before deciding to get Castiel another plate of food from the kitchen that he’d inevitably refuse to eat yet again.

As much as Dean tried to cover the fact he was _dreading_ the day Castiel had to leave, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling of guilt that seemed to strike him every so often. _He_ wasn’t the one who was being forced to leave his family, his friends, and the place that he called home. _He_ wasn’t the one being sent away with next to no warning, to a place he couldn’t even visualise, a place he could never imagine living a life. _He_ wasn’t the one faced with the possibility of never feeling familiarity again once he left the castle grounds. And he certainly wasn’t the one who had to pretend that he was totally happy with the whole thing.

But _Dean_ was losing _Castiel_. Dean was losing his best friend. Sure they hadn’t known each other for very long, but Dean felt an ominous feeling of protectiveness for his friend that seemed to hang over him and weigh him down whenever they weren’t in the same room – a feeling he knew would only develop into crippling paranoia once Castiel was gone. Dean didn’t even know how it had happened, or where this feeling had come from. He just believed that Castiel’s wellbeing was the most important thing to him. Making Castiel smile and keeping him safe were the only things that helped him to feel like he was actually worth something. Letting Castiel leave would just cause everything he’d build up inside of himself to come crashing down, and he was terrified of the aftermath if he could only admit it to himself.

***

It had been an eventful few days in the Stone City. Sightings of Crowley’s demons in their dark hoods were becoming more frequent, and they were being seen getting closer and closer to civilisation. Everybody was on edge waiting for news of the next attack, and fear hung heavy in the air of the Castle’s surrounding cities.

 

“I, King Bartholomew of the Stone City, by the grace of the gods: Summer, Winter, Autumn and Spring, sentence thee to death.”

The crowd cheered as a sick feeling twisted in Castiel’s gut; seeing his father deem someone the right to die as a punishment for their crimes was never an easy thing to bear witness to. The fact the crowd was so willing to watch it made Castiel’s sick feeling worsen.

“No…Please…you’ve got to listen to me, your majesty, just please don’t do this!” The poor man cried as he knelt on the stage only a few meters away from the prince and the rest of the royal family, hands bound tight in fraying ropes behind his back. Seeing such fear on one poor man’s face made Castiel’s heart turn to lead.

“Why should I even consider giving you the right to die a dignified death?” Castiel’s father spat. “You’re nothing but scum to this kingdom. You lied to me. Your head belongs on a spike above my castle walls.”

The crowd roared again, louder this time.

“But I didn’t lie, my lord! I didn’t, I swear! I’d never do such a thing! I was only bringing a message from the hills! From Crowley himself! He told me to spread word that he was coming to the castle to meet with you!”

“Silence!” The king said suddenly. “I don’t need to listen to your bullshit.”

“Just listen to him, father!” Castiel said suddenly. “He might’ve been telling the truth.”

“Silence, boy.”

“Cas, don’t make this any worse than it already is.” Dean whispered.

“But this isn’t fair!”

“I know that, dude, but you’ve got to chill before your dad loses it with _you_.”

Castiel turned to Dean. “Please don’t let him do this, Dean. I don’t want to see it.”

Dean placed a hand on his arm like he always did when he was trying to calm the prince down. “I don’t want to see it either. Just close your eyes and turn away once he gives the order.”

Castiel let out a slight whine as he turned back to the man on the floor. He looked up at Castiel with such pleading eyes that the young prince simply couldn’t take it anymore. “Please,” Castiel begged, walking slowly towards the man kneeling on the ground. He felt his mother try to grab his wrist, Dean too, but he pulled himself free. “Just listen to what he has to-”

“NOW!” The king roared.

Castiel was only half a metre away when the sword came down and the man’s head was severed clean from his body. Blood splattered across the young prince’s face and in his mouth, and he could hear the sound of the man’s neck bones being sliced apart replaying over and over again in his head. Castiel felt his legs weaken and the sound of the crowd screaming in delight grew further and further away. He looked down at his feet and saw the man’s head rolling gently from the impact, blood soaking into Castiel’s leather boots. That was the last thing Castiel saw before his vision turned black.

***

Castiel woke to the sound of his parent’s hushed voices. He didn’t dare open his eyes, he just lay there, body resting motionlessly in an unfamiliar bed, and listened to them speak.

“He will not forgive you for this, Bart. You must know that.” Castiel’s mother uttered.

“My dear, do you think that bothers me?” The king replied. “That boy despises everything I do. One day he will realise that it is only my duty to perform such tasks.”

“You should have waited! He could’ve gotten hurt!”

“By what? A decapitated head?” The king laughed. “He was fine, darling. I wouldn’t have allowed him to get too close.”

“He fainted.” The queen hissed.

“So what? He just needs toughening up. Balthazar and Gabriel have been perfectly fine witnessing beheadings since they were both six years old. Besides, didn’t he decapitate one of Crowley’s demon’s in the hills?”

“That was self-defence, and you can’t simply disregard this because he’s not as tough as the others. You know full-well that Castiel hasn’t been like the others ever since he was just a couple of months old.”

“Are you talking about the-”

“SHH!” The queen hushed. “And yes, I am talking about that.”

“I thought that would’ve made him stronger.” The king muttered, pacing over to the window then back across the room to his wife. “Do you know how many times I used to pray to the gods that he would turn out normal? I used to sit by the window every night and pray to the point of tears. Do you know what it’s like having a son like him? It’s hell. It’s hell, because you never know what the outcome of this all will be. Remember what happened to your uncle Crowley? What if Castiel ends up the same?”

The queen’s face tightened. “Castiel will never end up that way. Castiel has a good heart.”

“But if he does end up the same, you know what I’ll have to do.”

The queen shook her head slowly. “But you’re not going to do anything, are you. You’re a coward, and you’re just running from the problem by sending him away because you’re afraid of what will happen if he gets too close to a demon.”

“I used to think about saving us the trouble, you know.  I used to consider ending it all for him right there in his cot when he was a baby. I knew you’d never forgive me for it, so I never plucked up the courage. Sometimes I’d consider making it look like an accident…like maybe a stray wolf had found it’s way into the nursery…or that he’d slipped under the water in the bath when I had my back turned…but I could never do it. He was just a _baby_.”

There was a heavy silence hanging in the air of the room, and Castiel found what he was hearing hard to listen to.

“How can you love him, Naomi? How can you look at him and love him the way you love our other sons?”

“Because,” The queen swallowed hard, “Because he’s just an innocent boy. He’s our son. We should love him until the day he stops loving us, if it ever comes.”

“He won’t be innocent for long, my love. Like you said, Crowley was Castiel’s age when he turned for the worst.”

“Crowley had _always_ been evil. He beheaded an innocent lamb at just eight years old! Castiel would never hurt a fly, let alone an entire kingdom.”

The king waved his hand dismissively. “We shall speak of this no more. I do not want the rest of my day burdened with thoughts of this.”

Once the sound of the door slamming shut reached Castiel, he opened his eyes and sat upright, rubbing his eyes that seemed to ache the way his father’s would after a night heavily drinking whisky. He wiped a rogue tear from his cheek and was startled to find that his mother was still sitting there in the room, watching him with a sad smile.

“How are you feeling, Castiel?” She asked. She walked slowly over to him and kissed the top of his head. He noticed he was lying in his mother’s bed – the sheets were made of a thicker fabric than he was used to, and the duck-feather mattress was covered with a delicate silk. He looked down at his arms and found he was wearing a pair of soft white cotton pyjamas that appeared to be about four sizes too big for him.

He ignored her question and looked down at his hands sadly. “Where’s Dean?”

“Sitting out in the hall. He’s been sitting out there waiting for you ever since you fainted.”

Castiel tried to smile but it made his head spin.

“I’ll send him in, but you’re to stay in bed, okay? You’re not to leave this room until I’m happy that you’re making a recovery. Do you hear me?”

Castiel nodded and let himself sink further under the covers as she left the room. His mother was quickly replaced by Dean who near-ran over to the bed and instantly put his hand to the king’s forehead.

Castiel frowned up at him. “I don’t have a temperature, Dean.”

“I know. I was just checking.” Dean said awkwardly, allowing himself to perch at the edge of the bed.

He wasn’t sure what to say to his squire. Of course he wanted to thank him for waiting outside the room for god-knows-how-long while he slept, but he knew Dean would only retort with the usual ‘it’s my duty’ bullshit. Castiel knew fully well that it _was_ Dean’s duty after all, but sometimes he just wished that it wasn’t. Sometimes he wished Dean would do all these things for him just because he cared. Maybe he did care – but Castiel just found it hard to see.

Dean looked down at Castiel for a long while with a sad but relieved smile before something caught his eyes. “Hey, what happened there.” He frowned, gesturing towards his shoulder.

Castiel covered it up quickly. “Nothing. It’s probably just from where I fell.”

“I watched you fall, Cas, and you certainly didn’t land on your shoulder. Besides, it’s gone all purple and that only happens if it’s been there for a few days.”

“Well I don’t know how it got there.” Castiel lied. “And to be honest it’s not my number one priority right now.”

Dean sighed and reached forwards to pull his pyjama top away, slowly revealing the full extent of the purple bruise that seemed to smother the entire surface of his left shoulder. Castiel felt Dean’s finger’s brush his collar bone as he did so and it made the prince’s hairs stand on end. “Holy shit, Cas.” Dean breathed. “This looks like…like a hand mark.”

“It’s probably just from where I was carrying my bag the other day on that trek. I told you it was hurting my shoulder.” Castiel muttered dismissively.

“I know hand marks, Cas. Somebody did this to you didn’t they?”

Castiel looked away from Dean and shrugged further under the covers so that it was hidden.

“Was it Gabriel? That bastard I swear to god I’ll-”

“No, Dean, it wasn’t Gabriel.”

“Balthazar?”

Castiel shook his head.

“Am I going to have to go through every member of the house hold before you tell me who did this to you? Because when I find out who it was, I’ll skin them alive. I swear on it, Cas.”

“That would be classed as treason and you’d end up with your head on a spike.” Castiel said sadly. He watched as the slow realisation set into Dean’s face.

“Treason? You mean the _king_ did this to you? Your _father_?”

Castiel looked up at him and sighed with a small nod.

Dean reached slowly under the covers and placed a hand over the prince’s damaged skin. “Dads are dicks sometimes.” He said quietly. “I know that too, from first-hand experience.”

Castiel watched as Dean climbed onto the bed completely and laid himself down close beside him, being sure to never remove his hand from his damaged shoulder. Dean knew that it felt wrong to be lying like that with a prince – let alone another man – but he pushed the thought out of his mind and just focused on being close to his best friend.

“I was listening, just now, to my mother and father’s conversation.” Castiel admitted. “They thought I was asleep but…I wasn’t…and they were foolish to not have checked.”

Dean propped himself up on an elbow and watched Castiel’s face as he spoke.

“They were talking about me when I was a child. My father admitted to my mother that he wanted to drown me in the bath because he was afraid I was going to turn out like Crowley.”

“Crowley? But that son-of-a-bitch is a demon. You’re certainly not a demon, Cas. Quite the opposite.”

The prince sighed and glanced quickly at Dean’s mouth. It was so close. He wished it was closer. “He was so sure.”

Dean blinked slowly. “People can be sure about a lot of things, Cas, but it doesn’t always mean they’re right. You know when you’re sure about something – you can feel it. If your father was really sure that you were a demon he wouldn’t have let you live. He would’ve just done what he felt was right.”

Castiel thought about that for a few seconds. “What are you sure about?”

“I’m sure about a lot of things.”

“Like what?”

“I’m sure that my dad’s an ass, and your dad too. I’m sure that my little brother Sammy will grow up to be a good man. I’m sure that I sometimes develop a god-complex and I’m sure that the bakers in the kitchens here bake the best damn pie I’ve ever bared witness to. But most importantly, I’m sure that you’re one of the most genuinely good, smartest, most _annoying,_ righteous _,_ and handsome guys I’ve ever had the good fortune of meeting; and I’m sure that I’ll never regret spending a single second of my time with you.”

Castiel smiled to himself and looked up at Dean happily. He wasn’t sure how to reply to that, and if he was being entirely honest he found that every word seemed to have escaped him. There was nothing Castiel could say, no string of words, which would put across just how profoundly the prince cared for his squire in that moment, and every other moment that followed. The only thing he could think to do in return was to rest his head close beside Dean’s and hope that his heart wasn’t beating too loud.


	4. Chapter 4

“He could’a been of use to you, your grace.” Bobby breathed. After being the squire of a seventeen year old boy for five years, the sudden promotion to royal advisor was a drastic change. Little over a month ago his only problems were making sure Castiel turned up to dinner on time, or making sure he even remembered to eat at all, and now he suddenly found himself advising the king on matters like rivalry and war.

“He was no use to me. He was a liar.” King Bartholomew muttered as he shifted uncomfortably in his throne.

“He had a message from _Crowley_ _himself_. Nobody in this kingdom has had contact with Crowley in years. And what did you do? You cut his damn head of!”

“If Crowley wanted to speak with me I’d know by now.” Bartholomew said simply.

“You _don’t_ know that, your grace. This could’ve been a genuine warnin’. Besides, nobody in this kingdom knows what he’s capable of – he could be walkin’ the halls of the castle at this very moment and -”

“Are you suggesting that my guards are incapable of keeping the castle grounds safe?”

“No, your grace, of course not. I’m just sayin’ that Crowley is into some dark magic – he’s capable of anythin’, no matter how well guarded this castle is.”

“Crowley has a…a _flair for the dramatic_ , as it were.” Bartholomew shrugged. “He’s not one for low-profile entrances. He likes to make himself _known_.”

Bobby huffed and took a step forwards. “I strongly believe that you’re not takin’ the warning given by that villager yesterday as seriously as you should. He said that Crowley would come at the witching hour _tonight_. We need to be ready for the possibility of the message bein’ legitimate.”

“Fine.” Bartholomew said, standing up quickly. He turned to the small group of guards standing at the side of the room. “Prepare a banquet for tonight. We shall gather every man and women in the castle and have a feast and wait for the arrival of our guests at the witching hour who, as I am highly certain, will most likely not be joining us.”

The guards nodded in understanding of their orders and hurried off out of the room.

The king turned back to his advisor and raised his eyebrows. “Happy?”

“Do you really think we should be welcoming our opposition like this? We should be locking our doors, not opening them.”

“My castle, my rules.” Bartholomew waved dismissively before disappearing off out of the room.

***

After Castiel’s mother was fully certain he had regained his full strength from his fall, Dean and the prince found themselves spending most of their time in the castle’s gardens. Dean would sit silently next to Castiel while he explained everything he knew about the flowers they could see. Dean didn’t particularly care about the flowers; he just liked to hear Castiel talk with a genuine passion and dedication that was hard to fake. He loved the way Castiel’s eyes would light up whenever he asked about one of the prince’s favourite flowers, or the smile he spoke with when he got lost in the details and started rambling on and on without thinking about what he was saying.

“What’s this one?” Dean asked softly, pointing to a pink one with soft looking petals that curled back on their selves slightly; the middles were yellow and pale, and Dean thought that it was extremely pretty.

“That’s an Amaryllis Belladonna. It attracts the carpenter bees during the day and noctuid moths at night. My mother said that this has always been her favourite flower; she said she would’ve named me after it if I had been born a girl.

“Belladonna.” Dean said quietly, looking over at the prince who was sitting crossed legged intently watching a bee crawling into the flower. “Maybe if you ever have a daughter you could name her Belladonna.”

Castiel screwed his face up a little. “I don’t want to have children. Being the third son to the throne means it’s unlikely I’ll ever have to sit upon it. I’ll never be king, so there’s no need for me to have children to carry on the family name. That’s up to Balthazar.”

Dean let out a soft laugh and found himself noticing how close their hands were. Castiel was sitting crossed legged with his hands resting on the ground beside him, and Dean was sitting beside him propped up against one hand with his legs outstretched in front of him, one ankle resting upon the other. Their fingers were only inches apart, and Dean found himself moving his slowly closer until their fingers were touching. Castiel didn’t remove his gaze from the flower, but Dean knew he had noticed because Dean felt his hand instantly relax at his touch.

“Will you ever have children?” Castiel asked, and he found his voice strained with each word, as if his throat was closing up and he was finding it hard to breathe. But it wasn’t a horrible feeling. It was a feeling that filled him up so much that he felt that if Dean wasn’t touching his hand like that, he’d have floated off into space. He felt as if Dean was the only thing grounding him.

“Me? Nah. Women aren’t my thing.”

Castiel looked over at him in confusion. “How?”

“Have you ever considered that sometimes men love other men instead of women?”

The prince frowned. He’d never been made aware of this concept before. All his life he was brought up to believe that every man will meet a woman and that would marry her. This new concept was new and strange to him. “You want to marry a man?”

Dean let out a sad laugh. “Men can’t marry other men just like women can’t marry other women in this kingdom. If the king finds out that you love a man instead of a woman, he decides to either exiles you or sticks your head on a spike.”

Castiel looked horrified. “Why?”

“Because the gods only want humans to create children. Men can’t have children with other men, just like women can’t with other women. The king has to make sure his people obey the rules of the gods otherwise the whole kingdom will be punished. Have you ever read the story of Sodom and Gomorrah? ”

Castiel shook his head. “No.”

“It’s a story in the bible. God punishes whole villages with holy fire because of the sins that the people of those villages committed. Your father’s job is to make sure God never has to punish another village like that again.”

“But that’s not fair!” Castiel said suddenly. “What if I wanted to marry _you_ instead of a girl?”

“Hypothetically speaking? Your father would probably have me executed.”

“And me?”

“He wouldn’t execute you. He’d most likely send you away.”

The prince frowned. “Maybe he’d make an exception for me considering I’m his son. I could try and convince him to allow it. I could even try and convince him to let you marry any man you wanted…although I’d rather you married me, because I’d like that very much.”

Dean took the prince’s hand fully this time, and kissed it once. “Well that would make me very happy too, Cas. But it can never happen.” He looked up at the prince and swallowed hard. “We must never speak of this out here in the gardens again, okay? There are people watching and listening to everything we say and do out here, and I don’t want to risk letting the wrong person overhear. I couldn’t be so careless with you like that.”

Castiel pulled his hand away from Dean and looked back over at the flower sadly. The bee he had been watching before had finally flown away, and Castiel found that he had nothing worth staying out there for anymore.

“Do you understand?”

Castiel nodded.

“Good. Now, let’s go and get something to eat. I’m starving.”

***

Dean was busy helping the rest of the castle staff preparing for the banquet that was to commence at the witching hour that night, which meant Castiel was left on his own for the rest of the day, so he resigned to fishing with Balthazar. He grabbed his fishing rod from where Dean had tidied it away in his trunk, and sneaked a small chunk of meat from the kitchen to use as bait and met his oldest brother down by the river shortly after.

“Ah, Cassy, it seems we never get to spend any time together anymore.”

“That’s because you married that whore and gave up all your time for me in order to be with her.” Castiel mumbled.

“She’s not a whore.” Balthazar protested.

“You met her in a brothel down in the Stone City”

Balthazar shrugged. “I guess I stand corrected, but she’s a very nice girl. You should try talking with her some time. I think the two of you would get along quite well.”

Castiel considered this as he tore a small piece of meat and stuck it on the end of his fishing hook.

“Besides, you’re my little brother. I’ll always have time for you. Anyway, it’s whether or not _you_ have time for _me_ these days.” He winked as he cast his rod into the water.

Castiel frowned over at him. “What do you mean?”

Balthazar raised his eye brows but Castiel still hadn’t caught on.

“What?”

“You just seem to be spending all your time with that new squire of yours lately.”

“So? You spend time with your squire too.” Castiel retorted.

“I hired my squire, Kevin, twelve years ago when I was fifteen, and it seems as if you’ve spent more time with Dean in the past month than I have with Kevin in over a decade.” He laughed

“That’s bullshit.”

“Well it sure feels that way.” Balthazar winked.

“He’s my friend.”

“And my ‘whore’ is _my_ _friend_.”

Castiel cast his rod and stayed silent.

“All I’m saying is Dean’s a nice guy. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to be more than just _that_.”

“Well I _don’t_ want to be.” Castiel said harshly. “Because I don’t want the Gods to punish us with holy fire, and I don’t want father to cut off Dean’s head.”

Balthazar’s expression suddenly turned serious and he sat himself down on one of the large rocks protruding the water’s edge. “When father dies, I become king. You know that, don’t you?”

“Of course I know that.” Castiel said. “It’s all father ever tells me. ‘ _You’re worthless to me, boy. Balthazar doesn’t need you whining to him like this when he’s king.’_ ”

“And you know that once I’m king, I can change any of the rules that father may have cast upon the kingdom.”

“But father didn’t make that rule. The _Gods_ made that rule.”

“And if the Gods don’t like me changing their rules, it’s _me_ they shall punish. Not you. Not Dean.”

Castiel sat down on the rock beside his brother and sighed. “Well it doesn’t even matter anymore. Father is sending me away to the mountains and Dean will most likely die in the war while I’m gone. Father told me so.”

“Father doesn’t know that Dean will have me looking out for him, then.”

Castiel smiled at this. “You’d do that?”

“Of course. Father treats you unfairly – that’s for anybody to see.” He said, gesturing towards the purple bruising creeping up the side of the young prince’s neck. “But once father is rid from the throne, you’ll never have to suffer like that again. You’ll be able to love whoever you want without feeling like you have to hide it.”

Castiel felt a tremendous sense of gratitude towards his brother, suddenly clouded by a sudden feeling of anger. “I DON’T love Dean.”

Balthazar looked over at him. “It’s okay, Cassy, you don’t have to pre-”

“You can’t tell me how to feel! I don’t love Dean! I can’t love Dean! And father should be grateful that I don’t.” Castiel spat.

He got up from the rock and shoved his rod angrily into the water, before grabbing his cloak from where it was lying in a heap on the river bank and storming off angrily towards the castle.

 _‘Balthazar was probably just trying to make me admit to loving Dean in order for father to have a real reason to get rid of me for good’._ The prince thought to himself as he stumbled back across one of the three bridges _. ‘There are eyes and ears everywhere, how could I have been so foolish? How could I have been so close to admitting the one thing that would get both Dean and I killed?’_

 

Castiel avoided Balthazar for the rest of the day and locked himself up in his room with a book like he used to. But however hard he tried to focus on the words in front of him, his mind kept wondering to thoughts of Dean. Thoughts of what it would be like to love him; thoughts of what it would be like to kiss him, and hold his hand, and lie by his side at night. It scared him because the more he thought about it, the more he craved it. He wanted more than anything to be able to just cover himself in Dean, to have Dean’s arms around his waist and his skin covered in his kisses. That’s what he wanted. That’s what he needed. But he knew he could never have it, because he was being sent away to the mountains, and Dean would most likely be six feet underground when he returned.

***

At five to midnight, every man and women that worked within the castle of the Stone City was sitting at a table in the great hall, listening intently as the king spoke.

“We received a message yesterday from a man who claimed to have had contact with Crowley, the king of hell. Personally I believed the message was nothing more than an excuse for fame – nobody has had contact with a demon like Crowley in many years – so of course I disregarded it and condemned the man to die. But I’ve been advised that perhaps the message could’ve been of great importance to me and the people of this castle, as it stated that Crowley would visit us tonight at the witching hour. So here we are.” The king stated before taking his seat at his throne in the middle of the main table overlooking the rest of the hall.

The people of the hall began to chatter excitedly between their selves; Castiel could pick out laughter from across the room, and talk of ‘demons’ and ‘war’, but nobody seemed all that phased by it. Meeting with a demon in a hall full of people was the last place Castiel wished to be. He just wanted to be lying in his bed talking to Dean about how his day had been, or sitting in his window sill with his legs hanging free as he held Dean’s hand and talked about the future they’d never have.

“You alright?” Dean asked the prince once he noticed how quiet he’d become.

Castiel shrugged. “Just want to get this banquet over with.”

Dean nodded sympathetically. “Me too. But after this we can go back up to your room and hang out for a while. Just me and you.”

“I’d like that.” Castiel smiled shyly.

 

Castiel was about to take a sip from his glass when suddenly the room grew very cold. His breath was smoke in the air in front of him and his skin erupted in goosebumps. The room fell silent as they noticed it too – nobody dared to say a word.

The suddenly a rumble of thunder ripped through the room, ratting the windows and the cutlery on the table. People screamed in fear and Castiel felt Dean grab his hand under the table as another rumble clawed through the empty room, followed this time by three shoots of thick black smoke.  The jets of smoke circled the room three times as women screamed and men ducked for cover. Castiel felt one of the jets brush in a wave of hot air behind his family’s table and his he felt his hand growing sweaty with fear as he gripped Dean’s. He found himself cowering into Dean, face hidden in the crook of his neck, and Dean held his head protectively, whispering “It’s okay, Cas. It’s going to be okay.”

When the smoke cleared and the screaming stopped, Castiel looked out into the centre of the room to see three hooded figures standing together, arms crossed. The one at the front of the group pulled his hood down first to reveal a slightly stocky looking man with thick circles under his eyes and a somewhat endearing grin.

“Dear Bartholomew! I see you received my message. Sorry it was at such short notice and everything, but, you know how it is. Being king of Hell sure keeps you on your toes.”

“Crowley.” The king said, as more of an announcement than a greeting.

“Barty, my dear friend, there’s no need for all of this _hostility_. You are married to my niece, and after all…we’re family.” Crowley grinned.

The king stood up and took a step forwards, only to be stopped by the royal guards. “Why are you here, Crowley? First you send your people out to attack mine, and then you turn up in my home with next to no warning. What do you want from us?”

“Well, now that you’re asking…I suppose I’m here for what every man wants. Blood, sex, and booze.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So was I.” Crowley winked. He gestured towards the two figures standing behind him and they both pulled down their hoods too. “You may be wondering who these two friendly faces are. Well, this is my dear friend Azazel and his daughter Meg. In my will it is written that Azazel is to become the next good soul to sit upon my throne, and rule hell like any good man should go about their duty as a king. But before that, he desperately wants to see his daughter married off to somebody who can guarantee her safety. Those demons in hell can be a bit… _feisty_ when it comes to treason and murder. They’re always hoping to be the next to plunge a knife into the heart of their loyal ruler.”

“And why come to me with this problem?”

“Because you have three handsome sons, Barty. And my friend Azazel here wants to be certain his daughter will be given the life she deserves before he bites the dust and she becomes the queen. Of course if she’s wed to one of your sons when she’s crowned queen of hell…he’ll equally become the king.”

“Why should I ever allow a son of mine to be wed to a monster like _her_?”

Azazel’s daughter, Meg, made a face of mixed offence and amusement, and crossed her arms tightly across her chest.

“Because, my friend, it seems we’re on the brink of war. If Meg marries one of your sons then we’ll surely be equals. There will be no reason to fight.”

“And if I decline this offer?”

“We. Will. _Obliterate_. You on the battle field.”

Bartholomew thought about it for a long moment. “Then it seems we have a deal.”

A wave of shock rippled through the people watching in awe.

“Balthazar of course is already happily wed, so it appears he’s off the menu.” Crowley smiled, turning to Meg. “So it seems you have a choice of two.”

King Bartholomew gestured for his two younger sons to join him. Gabriel got up straight away and strutted over to his father’s side, grinning over at Meg with a creepy sort of over-confidence. Castiel however was stuck at Dean’s side, not wanting to let go of Dean’s hand.

“You’ve gotta go.” Dean whispered. “You just have to, Cas, there’s nothing I can do.”

“But I don’t want to marry that demon. I don’t want to. I just want to stay here with you.” Castiel’s voice broke as he spoke, and Dean had to swallow hard in order to keep himself together.

“She might not pick you, buddy. But you’re a good looking, sweet, dude and I will completely understand completely if she does. Besides, if she marries one if you it means you won’t have to leave because there will be no war to hide from.”

“CASTIEL.” His father called. Every head in the room turned to look at him. “Bobby, bring Castiel up here, would you?”

He found himself being pulled to his feet by his ex-squire, but he couldn’t find the strength to fight against him. He just let his hand slip from Dean’s as he was forced to the front of the room to stand beside his father and pretend that he was proud of what he stood for.

“Make your choice, darling.” Crowley grinned, linking arms with the girl as she approached the two.

Castiel felt the air growing thick as Meg looked upon his brother with disinterest and slight distaste. However hard he tried, he found it nearly impossible to stop himself from looking back to where Dean was sitting at the side of the room, but he did, and found that Dean was intensely watching the scene unfold, jaw flexing angrily. As Meg’s eyes found Castiel, the young prince felt a sick feeling setting into his gut, as if it was just wrong to have somebody other than Dean looking at him that way. Castiel could barely look up at her – he didn’t want to make this demon think that he was willing to marry her, although he knew that she’ll married whomever she chooses, whether or not they were willing.

“I pick this one.”

Castiel didn’t need to look up at her to know that Meg was looking directly at him. The sound of Dean’s cup falling over at the side of the room was enough to confirm it for him.

“He has such a sweetness about him. An’ look at those eyes. He’ll make the perfect father for our son, the future King of Hell.”

Castiel felt his father’s hand on his shoulder – the same shoulder he’d bruised a few days previous – and squeezed it hard again. “Castiel, look up at your wife-to-be.”

The prince didn’t move a muscle.

“ _Look_ at her.”

He couldn’t lift his eyes from the floor, but found his father grabbing a fistful of his hair, jerking his head up hard to make their eyes meet. As he fully focused on her, she flashed the black of her eyes which startled him. She was a pretty girl, Castiel would give her that, but that didn’t mean he was any more inclined to marry her.

Crowley stepped between them, allowing Castiel to return his gaze to the floor. “So the deal is made. Prince Castiel, third son of Bartholomew, will marry Megan Masters, second heir to Hell, in three weeks.”

“A deal it is.” Bartholomew smiled.

“Fantastic. Now, if you wouldn’t mind unhanding my king-to-be, I’d much appreciate that.”

The king released his grip on his son’s hair and took a step backwards.

With one last smile and a simple click of his fingers, Crowley, Meg, and Azazel folded back into black jets of thick black smoke and exited through one of the great hall’s tall windows.

Silence fell across the room again and Castiel couldn’t quite feel his heart anymore. He took one last look back at his father before stepping forwards and running right out of the hall in front of nearly five hundred people. Once he was half way down the hall he heard the great hall burst into a sea of voices and the sound of a familiar footsteps following quick behind him.

But he didn’t care. He _couldn’t_ care. He just wanted to disappear.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (reposting from here-on for reasons/editing)

“Castiel! Wait!”

Castiel couldn’t bring himself to look back. He didn’t want to face what Dean was feeling as much he didn’t want to face what he, himself, was feeling. He just wanted to shut himself in his bedroom and cry into his pillow until he had convinced himself that his life didn’t fucking matter anymore.

“Stop running, Cas. What’s running going to do?”

He felt Dean lunge for his hand just as he reached his bedroom door. Castiel shook his hand from Dean’s grip just in time to unlock his door, but by the time he’d managed to get inside, Dean had too.

Before he had time to think he was crushing his face into Dean’s neck, biting his lip in a desperate attempt to stop himself from screaming out. Dean held him close, stroking his head gently as the prince’s legs buckled beneath him and Dean found himself holding him up.

“Cas,” Dean breathed into his hair. “Oh, God,  _Cas_.”

Castiel clutched Dean’s shirt desperately and closed his eyes, hoping to just vanish. He thought that if his heart became any heavier it would just stop working all together, and he’d just stop existing forever.

Dean carried the prince over to the bed and laid him down gently, only taking his eyes off him to shut the door and lock it securely behind him. He then climbed onto the bed too and laid beside him, stroking the tears away with his thumb.

“Doesn’t even fucking matter, Cas.” Dean whispered. “None of it fucking matters.”

“Yes it does.” Castiel whispered, looking up at him. “It matters because…because I think I really  _do_  love you. And I don’t want to have to spend the rest of my life with somebody else.”

Dean swallowed hard and propped himself up onto an elbow, resting one hand over Castiel’s heart as he bent down slowly to kiss him. Their lips met and Castiel felt that heavy feeling in his heart shatter, and the more Dean’s lips moved, the faster Castiel’s heart began to beat. He felt Dean climb onto him so that he was sitting carefully on top, never allowing their lips to part as he slipped a hand under Castiel’s shirt. Castiel moved his own hands from fists on Dean’s shirt to Dean’s face, his hair, his waist, his neck.

Castiel knew it was wrong.  _So_  wrong. This wasn’t what two men did with each other knowing what the consequences would be if anybody found out. They were foolish to even lie with each other, but Castiel couldn’t find it in himself to stop. He just wanted the moment to last forever, as his heart beat fast and his hands shook with anticipation and every other overwhelming feeling and thought that ran through his head as he just _existed_.

Dean began to cry as their kiss deepened. He couldn’t decide whether he’d rather the war had happened and Castiel had to be sent away to the mountains until it was over, or the war being called off and Castiel being forced to marry somebody else, and have to watch him living unhappily when Dean knew that the prince wanted to be with him instead. What’s worse was that Dean didn’t know if Castiel would ever let Dean come that close to him again. Would marriage force Castiel to disconnect himself from Dean, for fear that the demons would turn against him if they found out that Castiel really loved his squire more than he loved his wife?

Castiel pulled Dean’s shirt off over his head with something close to desperation – desperation to get as close to Dean as he could before everything was snatched away from him. And Dean placed kisses down the prince’s chest as he dumped his shirt onto the floor. There was a clank of metal as Castiel fumbled with his squire’s belt, slowly loosening his trousers to allow him to wriggle free. Once Dean’s trousers were out of the way, Castiel wriggled out of his own and focused the rest of his attention to Dean, kissing him, touching him, and making the most of having him, even though it was  _so wrong_.

“ _Dean_.” Castiel whimpered as Dean teased a hand under the waist band of his underwear.

Dean looked up at him and placed a kiss to his jaw. “It’s okay, Cas.”

The prince was nearly delirious with despair – he could barely force himself to open his eyes. “I want  _you_.”

“I know.” Dean swallowed. “I want you too. But it’s okay, you have me right now.”

“No.” Castiel cried. “I want you  _forever_.”

Dean couldn’t bear to listen to him talk like that anymore and kissed his lips again, moving slowly and affectionately, taking in the taste of Castiel’s mouth, mapping his lips against his own as he pulled Castiel’s underwear fully away, leaving the prince vulnerable and fully exposed in the dim candlelit chamber. Dean ran a hand down Castiel’s thigh, the other gently holding his waist as they kissed. Castiel looked up at him and big, sad eyes and Dean felt his own heart shatter. He looked so goddamn  _ruined._  More lifeless than the days before when he was due to be taken away at the first sign of war.

“She’ll love you, Cas.” Dean reassured him softly, breaking their lips apart to look at his face fully. “It’s impossible not to.”

“But she’s a  _demon_ , Dean. And she’s not  _you_.”

“I’m still going to be here – you’ll see me every day as you do now. I’m always gonna be your squire, there’s no doubt about that.”

“That’s not the point, Dean, you know that.” The prince sighed, rolling onto his side. Dean shifted his body so that he was lying next to him, the prince’s head tucked neatly under his chin. He ran a hand down Castiel’s spine and watched the way goosebumps erupted over his perfect skin.

“I know.” Dean whispered. “I just don’t know how to make it better for you.”

Castiel smiled sadly and wiped away a rogue tear that had escaped down his cheek as he shifted closer into the warmth of Dean. “You’re making it better by just being here.”

Dean kissed the top of his head. “I love you.”

Castiel couldn’t open his mouth to reply without being shaken by another bout of tears, so he just pulled Dean’s hand up to his lips and kissed it, hoping that that would be enough.

***

Castiel woke the next morning to find himself lying alone in his bed. The place where Dean had been lying had gone cold, which told him that Dean had been gone for a while. He quickly dressed himself in an over shirt and whatever else he could find, and went on a search for him through the castle. When he finally located Dean, he found him sitting alone at a table in the dining hall piling through a mountain of wedding invites with an address book sat beside him. Castiel watched from behind the door as he’d sigh and run and distressed hand over his face, tossing an addressed pile of invites to one side.

The pile hit the table and displaced, some falling onto the floor, and Dean looked up suddenly to find a sharp hand to the back of his head.   
“Pick those up, boy. This isn’t your goddamn home – treat this shit with respect. You hear me?” Bobby spat.

Dean nodded feebly.

“I said, You Hear Me?”

“Y-yes sir.” Dean responded, quickly ducking under the table to retrieve the invites that had fallen.

***

Before Castiel had a second thought, he was bursting through the doors of the king’s quarters where his father was meeting with the lords from each realm. Castiel didn’t care that they were sitting there when he began shouting abuse at his father; they deserved to hear what a bloody bastard he was for forcing Dean to do slave’s work, and how much Castiel wished him dead for forcing him to marry a monster.

“YOU!” Castiel spat. “You bastard.”

The king stood up suddenly at his son’s arrival. “What is the meaning of this?”

“I’ve been thinking, father, about you, and how you’re forcing me to marry a  _demon_.”

There was a muffled murmur of confusion from the lords sitting around the long oak table.

“What, you haven’t told your lords about your plan? You haven’t thought to mention it at all?” Castiel spat, glaring angrily at his father. He addressed the lords this time. “Well it seems you’ll receive the invite sooner or later: King Bartholomew here has made a deal with the King of Hell. He’s marrying me off to a demon called Meg in order to ‘keep the peace’. But of course that’s not the only reason he’s doing it, you see. His real intention is to unite the kingdoms in order to gain power. The king of Hell doesn’t know that part yet, it seems.”

“Bartholomew, your grace, tell me this is not true.” One of the lords interjected.

The king ignored him and marched quickly towards his son, stopping only inches from his face. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m telling you the truth, father. Isn’t that what you’ve always taught me, to tell the truth?”

“Listen here bo-”

“No.” Castiel said firmly. “I need to say this because I know I’ll never get another chance: I do not want to marry a demon. There are other people in this kingdom I’d be far happier with, and people who would be far happier with Meg, can’t you see? But of course you don’t care about my happiness, or else I wouldn’t be covered in scars at bruises.”

The king grabbed a fistful of Castiel’s hair and the lords behind him tensed up. “You deserve every scar and bruise on your body.” The king hissed.

"You think you can just beat me and expect me to put up with it? You never listen to me - don't you care at all about me, or how I feel? Just  _listen_  to me, would you? This isn't fai-"

"Don't you dare try and talk to me about what's fair or not. You're doing the kingdom a great deed by doing this. Without you taking Meg's hand in marriage, we'd be forced into a battle that we'd almost certainly lose."

"There are other ways to achieve peace…Other ways to achieve power, if that’s what you really want."

"And this is the easiest way. Just accept it - you're going to have the chance to be king of your very own kingdom! You'll rule Hell and have a royal family of your own."

"But I don't  _want_  that!" Castiel spat. "I don't want to be king! I don't even want to be a prince! I don't know if it's ever occurred to you but I'd rather _die_  than go along with this horrific plan of yours -"

"Then  _die_. Go on. Oh…of course you won’t, because you’re too much of a coward to do even  _that_."

Castiel blinked up at his father for a few long seconds. The air grew cold and Castiel felt the blood slowly drain from his face. "Maybe I will." he said quietly, his voice shaking.

"Then hurry up with it." The king hissed. "Because I don't want to have to stand here and listen to you whine like the ungrateful little shit you are. Some people would give everything they have to rule their own kingdom, and you're willing to throw it all away for the sake of marrying a girl you don't like. Get out of my sight."

Castiel sucked in a sharp breath and turned to walk away, only to find himself stopped by a firm hand on his already-bruised shoulder.

"But don't you dare act as if I never gave you everything. I could've let you die as a baby but I didn't."

Castiel bit his lip hard out of anger, as his shoulder began to throb. He felt an unfamiliar feeling of fury brewing within the pit of his stomach - a feeling to the extent of which Castiel had never experienced before; a self destructive feeling that he never thought he'd feel.

"Let. Go. Of. Me." The prince breathed.

Bartholomew didn't hear him. Castiel shifted his body under the king's grip and felt a pinch that sent waves of anger through every inch of his body.

"Get your filthy hand of off me."

"What did you say to me?" The king spat, pulling the prince round to face him, then shoving hard with such a force that caused him to stumble to the floor.

Castiel looked up at him from the ground, seething. "You're a monster. You've always been a monster. Yet you have a kingdom of people blindly following you because they don't know who you really are behind the castle walls."

The king grabbed his son by the throat and pulled him to his feet again, but Castiel didn't stop.

"If people saw the real you...the bastard who killed innocent men for carrying a message, the bastard who plotted to murder his own baby, the man who beats his son..."

He received a sharp kick to the gut and felt his chest heave with the blood pooling in his stomach, slowly seeping into his mouth.

"...they'd, they'd turn against you, and you know it. You don't deserve to sit on that th-throne. And that crown on your head b-belongs to somebody so much more worthy than a m-monster like  _you_."

"You shut your mouth, boy." The king warned.

The prince spat blood out onto the floor by the king's feet."You've treated me this way my whole life yet you expect me to, to love y-"

"OF COURSE I EXPECT YOU TO LOVE ME, NOT ONLY AM I YOUR FATHER BUT I AM YOUR  _KING_!"

"AND I AM YOUR  _SON_." Castiel screamed. Something snapped within him and he found his own fist smashing into the side of the king's face. It felt good. So good. It felt as if he was demolishing a weight in his chest that had been holding him down since the day he was born, slowly but ever so surely becoming heavier with each day. But now it was gone, and he felt brand new, and he could do it a thousand times more if he needed.

“GUARDS!” The king yelled. “Beat him, and lock him in a cell.”

He found himself surrounded by guards who gripped his arms and legs and began to drag him out of the room. No matter how much Castiel screamed and kicked, they simply wouldn’t relieve their grip as they carried him down the hallway.

After what felt like forever, they stopped in front of a large metal door which one of the guards forced open to reveal a set of dank stairs the prince had never dreamed of seeing before. As the guards dragged him down the crumbling steps, the heavy door slammed shut behind him and he was immersed in darkness. The only thing he could do as he was forced down the stairs was close his eyes and prepare for what he knew was coming for him once he reached the bottom.

***

"Cas, buddy? It's me. I'm here."

The prince opened his eyes weakly to see Dean crouched in the darkness on the other side of the metal bars.

"Dean?" Castiel coughed. He tried to shift his body closer but every inch of him ached and his head pounded.

"I'm here. It’s okay. What did they do to you?"

Castiel forced out a hate-filled laugh. "They beat me...with  _chains_."

He felt Dean reach through the bars and take his hand. "Fuck, Cas, what did you do to deserve this?"

Castiel shook his head. Not because he didn't understand why this had to happen to him, but because he didn't want to relive the anger he felt if he tried to explain it.

"Well it's okay now." Dean said softly as he began to stroke the back of Castiel's grazed hand with his thumb. "Because I'm here now, and I'm not gonna let another bastard lay a finger on you."

Castiel tried to smile but his face was too swollen to move. "Thank you."

"I'll try and get you out of here. My father's a blacksmith...he'll have the tools in his workshop to free you."

"No need." Came another voice from a darker corner of the cell, which seemed to startle both the prince and his squire. The figure stepped into what little light the candles on the wall gave off, and Castiel instantly recognised the figure to be Crowley, the king of Hell, standing meters away from him.

"Hey, hey, hey." Dean said suddenly, climbing to his feet. "What the hell do you think you're doing in there? Have you been in there since he was thrown in?"

"Relax, darling. I'm just here to free my future heir." He winked. The demon stepped forwards and tapped the locked gates once. Instantly they unclicked and swung open, and Dean wasted no time in rushing in to fall down by the prince's side, taking in his bloody, beat up face.

Dean hugged the prince tightly and looked back up at Crowley. "Wait…why are you helping him? You hate his family."

"Castiel doesn't see himself as part of that family." Crowley explained as he made himself comfortable on the rotten wooden bench by the wall. "And it seems we share a mutual interest: hatred of our mighty king Bart."

Dean looked back down at his suffering friend and ran a thumb across his swollen cheek. "He has a reason to hate the king. You don't."

"Oh, I have my reasons, Winchester. They may not be entirely apparent to you at the moment but you'll see them sooner or later."

"I want him  _dead_." The prince managed to force out.

"We share that mutual interest too." Crowley beamed. "But before we get to work on the revenge side of things, let me help you get cleaned up."

Crowley leaned forwards towards the prince with two fingers outstretched. But before he managed to lay a finger on Castiel, Dean stopped him.

"Woah, woah, woah, what do you think you're doing?"

"Chill your beans, squirrel. I'm doing him a favour."

"By doing what, poking him in the head? I don't think so. Keep your hands off of him."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "I understand your dying concern for your prince," Crowley started, "But I really am trying to do him a favour. Just trust me."

"Trust  _you_? You're a motherfricking demon. If there's anyone who least deserves my trust it's you." Dean spat.

"For the love of all things sinful, just trust me. Just this once. Do you really want to look at him when he has a face like that?"

Dean looked down at the prince. His face was lumpy and bleeding, with purple bruises appearing in patches across his cheek bones and nose. "Just promise me you won't hurt him."

"I'm a demon, not a bloody arsehole." Crowley muttered as he leant forwards towards the prince. Dean watched as he tapped the prince's forehead with two fingers just once, and suddenly with a small flash of red, his face was fully repaired and back to normal.

The prince looked down at his newly repaired body in awe, and Dean couldn't resist running a thumb over Castiel's once damaged cheek.

"There we go. I couldn't bear to let Meg marry you in that state."

"H-how did you do that to me?" Casitel frowned. "You  _healed_  me.”

"I was surprised that you hadn't learnt to do the same by now." Crowley shrugged, standing up to peer put of the small barred window in the wall, overlooking another empty cell.

"Me? What you just did was magic. I've never performed magic in my life."

"Magic?" Crowley laughed. "Not quite. But we're not so different, you and I. You'll see that one day. Besides...something has changed within you. Something  _dark_."

"Are you implying that he's a  _demon_?" Dean interjected. "Because you're wrong about that. Castiel is one of the purest people I know - there's no way in hell he's a demon too."

"I fixed your friend and now you're throwing around the D-word like it's toxic. Please, Dean, show a little respect would you? But anyway, I have some questions for your father, mostly about why in God’s name the future king of Hell was locked beaten and bloody in this basement three weeks before his wedding. And then I have to pick out an outfit for your big day - I'm thinking black. You can never go wrong with black. I'll see you boys later."

Castiel opened his mouth to demand more answers, but with a wink and a click of his fingers, Crowley was gone.

But Dean didn't care about a thing Crowley had just said. He just took one look at the prince, brand new and repaired, and pulled him into another tight hug. "Fuck, Cas, I'm so glad you're okay."


	6. Chapter 6

As the date of the wedding loomed closer, Castiel found himself spending more and more time with Dean, until the point where Castiel didn’t feel right when his squire wasn’t at his side. And there was something that the prince couldn’t quite admit to himself – it was a feeling that he felt whenever he looked at Dean. A weird feeling, but a nice feeling nonetheless. A feeling of growing affection that seemed to intensify with every waking hour.

And Dean couldn’t lie and pretend he didn’t feel the same. Every time he looked at the prince he just wanted to make everything okay for him. He wanted to fix every small thing in his life so that he would never have to feel upset again. But knowing he couldn’t do that was bringing him down. And every time he thought back to the promise he’d made to himself to never let Castiel suffer, he felt a heavy feeling in his chest that told him he was a failure once again. And with little over two weeks until the wedding, Dean felt the heavy feeling grow stronger each day.

***

“Castiel, your mother keeps demanding your presence in her quarters.” Dean said as he took a seat on the edge of the prince’s desk.

“Tell her I’m busy.” Castiel muttered.

“I’ve told her that five times now. She’s beginning to get impatient.”

“Tell her to deal with it.”

Dean pulled his eyebrows together and looked down at the prince. It wasn’t in his nature to talk about somebody that way when they’d done nothing to burden him; it was even more out of character that he was talking that way about his own mother.

“Hey, are you okay?” Dean asked, placing a hand on Castiel’s shoulder as he wrote.

The prince looked up at him. “I’m fine, Dean. I promise.”

“You don’t seem fine.” Dean said. “Is there anything you want to talk about? Meg? The wedding? Your father? Anything?”

Castiel pushed back in his chair and placed a hand over Dean’s. “I’m  _fine_.”

Dean gave a sad smile. “You’d tell me if there was something bothering you, wouldn’t you? You know it’s my job to make sure you’re okay; not only as your squire but as your…what am I?”

Castiel stood up and Dean pulled him closer from where he was sitting on the desk. The prince smiled shyly as Dean glanced at his lips.

“What am I?” Dean breathed slowly.

Castiel was overcome with a feeling in his chest, and the only thing he could think to do was kiss him. Kiss him slowly, and softly, with a hand reaching slowly around the base of his neck. Dean pulled away so that their foreheads were touching and sent him and sleepy smile.

“You’re  _mine_.” Castiel breathed in reply.

“I think I’m okay with that.” Dean smiled.

They were interrupted by the sudden entrance of somebody in the room, and Castiel stepped away from Dean so fast that he tripped over the desk chair behind him and only just managed to stay on his feet.

“Castiel, I’ve been asking for you all morning.” The queen hissed.

Castiel looked over at her with a sorry smile. “Sorry, mother. I’ve been busy. That’s all.”

She crossed her arms over his chest the way Castiel assumed mothers always did. “And what could possibly be so much more important than meeting me to prepare your outfit for the wedding?” she asked with an eyebrow raised.

Castiel glanced over at the desk and realised his journal was still spread out over the table. He quickly grabbed it and shoved it into his desk. “Just writing.”

“Well we’ve got far more pressing matters at hand than ‘just writing’.”

“I’m sorry, mother.”

She shook her head. “Come along, now. We must get this sorted or else we’ll never get it done.”

***

The youngest prince and his squire followed the queen into a drawing room adjacent to her quarters. Inside the room Castiel found a number of mannequins dressed in a number of specially tailored overcoats for him to choose from.

Each of them looked extremely expensive looking: all decorated with hand stitched designs in golden threats with golden buttons encrusted with emeralds and rubies. They were made of a fabric Castiel didn’t quite recognise; not too thick, but thin enough to give off a sheen when they caught the light. Castiel didn’t quite know how to react to seeing them sitting there like that as he’d never had the occasion to dress up in such fancy clothes before. Usually the princes would just be made to wear matching red velvet overcoats with the house’s banner stitched into their cloaks, with silver trousers and high leather books with golden buckles – standard dress for a prince attending a major event in the kingdom.

“Come here.” The queen directed, taking the prince’s hand to pull him into the centre of the room. Dean stood to the side of the room and leaned back against the wall with a smirk of hilarity setting into his lips.

Castiel huffed as the queen lifted the first over coat from a mannequin and held it up in front of her youngest son. It was royal blue, nearly  _too_ bright, with large golden flowers stitched into the sleeves with huge silver frills at the collar. Dean had to swallow his laughter while Castiel struggled not to look  _too_  embarrassed.

“I don’t think this is my, erm, my  _colour_.” Castiel muttered.

The queen tilted her head in deep thought. “It could work.”

“No, mother.” Castiel said, pushing the overcoat away gently. “I  _really_  don’t think it’s my colour.”

Castiel glanced over at Dean as the queen returned the overcoat to the mannequin and picked out another one. Dean was standing with his hand over his mouth, but the prince could tell from the crinkles around his eyes that he was finding the whole situation pretty hilarious.

“How about this one?”

Castiel looked up just as a green overcoat was shoved under his nose. “No way.”

“What’s wrong with this one?” The queen frowned.

The prince sighed and walked over to the rest of the mannequins. “I like this one.”

He picked up the sleeve of a maroon overcoat – it had golden paisley stitching that accented the golden buttons perfectly, the cuffs were encrusted with rubies and the inside was laced with golden fabric.

“Ah,” The queen smiled. “I had a feeling you’d like that one.”

The prince looked back at his squire. “What do you think, Dean?”

Dean walked over slowly and perched on the arm of one of the queen’s chairs and nodded in acceptance. If he was being entirely honest, Castiel was a little disappointed in Dean’s reaction. Of course he wasn’t going to straight-out tell him that it would look good on him, in front of the queen and all, but a little more of a reaction would’ve been nice.

“Why don’t you try it on?” The queen suggested.

Dean helped her remove it from the mannequin and handed it to the prince, who slipped it on eagerly, stepping quickly in front of the mirror to admire his reflection.

“Oh, gosh…it’s a little big.” The queen sighed.

She was right; it did hang a litter further over his fingers than he’d have liked.

“It’s no problem. I can fix it for you. Dean, be a darling and help me get it onto the mannequin, would you?”

Castiel handed the coat back to his squire and watched as he slipped it back over the mannequin.

“Dean, hold the fabric here in place while I pin it.” The queen directed. Dean did what he was told, and Castiel watched as his mother searched through a small sewing kit sitting neatly in her armchair.

“Oh, gosh, it seems I’ve misplaced my pins.” The queen sighed.

“It doesn’t matter, mother. We can always get the maids to fix it up.”

“No, no, no.” The queen sighed as she continued her search. “I want to do this myself. Balthazar never let me help him decide on what he was wearing for his wedding ceremony…it would be nice to have just a little involvement in the whole thing. Especially as you’re my youngest son, Castiel. Watching you get married will be a strange thing for me to witness, considering you’re so much younger than I hoped you’d be before you married. I just want to help out as much as I can.”

Castiel smiled gratefully.

“Ah, I know where I left them! They’re in your father’s quarters.”

“Shall I go and retrieve them for you, your grace?” Dean suggested.

“No, Dean, honey, Castiel can run and get them for me. I need  _you_  to keep holding it in place if that’s not too much for ask.”

“Not a problem.” Dean smiled.

“With all due respect, mother, I don’t particularly want to face father at the moment, what with recent events and everything.”

“Don’t worry dear, he’s off hunting with some of the lords and masters from around the Stone City. He’ll be gone from his quarters all day.”

***

Castiel stepped quickly through the tall doors of the king’s quarters and walked quickly over to where the large desk was stationed by the window.

“Pins.” Castiel reminded himself. “A small box of pins.”

As he reached the desk he noticed it was pretty much empty; not a single piece of parchment of quill in sight. He frowned at the sight – it was usually a tip, books stacked over the place, empty discarded ink pots long forgotten, empty cups that had once held the kingdom’s finest ale, now all gone. There wasn’t a single trace of the desk ever being used at all.

He reached for the top desk drawer and pulled it open. It was empty, bar an empty packet of cigars. The second drawer wasn’t much more luck – there was nothing but dust balls. However in the third drawer, along with the pin box he had been searching for, he found a long rolled up piece of parchment, tied up with a piece of old string.

He retrieved the pin box and promptly shut the drawer, but curiosity got the better of him, and he opened it again. This time he knelt down on the floor and retrieved the rolled-up parchment. The string came untied with little effort and he rolled the paper flat out over his knee.

 

_Dearest Hael,_

_It’s been a while since I last wrote to you, and for good reason too._

_Security in the castle has been stronger than ever, what with the recent demon sightings in the hills. My guards urged me not to send letters unless they were of great importance (not that you’re unimportant to me, dear sister, which is certainly not the case) and I couldn’t risk this letter being intercepted. If this information falls into the wrong hands, my dear, the consequences could be fatal._

_But you see there have been a number of changes lately that I must inform you of. No longer is Castiel being sent to stay with you in the mountains (not that it was likely he’d have ever reached you, what with the number of wendigos that have made their homes along the roads he was due to travel). Instead he is marrying the second heir to Hell, Meg Masters._

_This marriage is of great importance to me as it finally gives me a chance to expand my kingdom. Removing Crowley and Azazel from the equation will be no trouble at all. They will be staying in our hospitality for seven days after the wedding, giving me and my men a chance to dispose of them effectively without raising much suspicion – after all, a demon in a city of pure-blooded humans means a lot of humans will be looking for what revenge they can find for a war their grandparents were slaughtered in many years ago. Nobody will suspect that their warmly welcoming hosts were at fault for their demise._

_Killing Meg will be harder – she will most likely be guarded by Crowley’s men at every waking hour. So I will remove Castiel first. I’ll send him out on a hunt with a few of my men, and they will ensure his death looks like a wolf attack, or something of the sort – I’ve told them to get creative with that one. Meg will be at her most vulnerable then, as she will most likely be carrying my son’s baby after consummating their marriage. She will be so distraught after losing her father, her king, and then the father of her baby, that she will not be expecting what will be coming for her a few days later._

_The demons of Hell will rejoice at the news that what little royal family they had left had been wiped out. And as it will have been I who killed the last remaining heir, it will be I who claims the throne! As promised, dear sister, the crown will be yours. Our family will grow as an empire once more, and at such little cost!_

_The day will come when our family gains complete control of every man and woman of every land, but for now we take it one step at a time._

_Be sure to burn this letter after reading; we will be reunited in due course._

_Love,_

_Your dear brother,_

_King Bartholomew of the Stone City, (and the kingoms we are yet to conquer)._

 

The prince looked down at the letter in his lap and drew a sharp breath. His body was stiff, his heart was slow, and he couldn’t quite decide whether to place it back in the drawer and pretend he’d never found it, or rip it up there and then.

“What are you doing in here, kid?”

Castiel stood up to see Bobby, the chief guardsman, walking across his father’s quarters towards him. “Me? Uh, just collecting these pins for mother. She’s fixing my clothes for the wedding tomorrow.”

“I see.” Bobby grunted, collecting something from the coffee table in the middle of the room. Castiel shoved the piece of parchment into his pocket and kicked the drawer shut again.

“I’ll just…” He looked down at the pin box in his hand, and felt a thick feeling forming in his stomach. He could feel the letter in his pocket against his hip. “I’ll just leave now.”

 

Castiel broke into a run back to his mother’s quarters. Part of him wanted to grab Dean, pack a bag, and ride off into the hills where his father’s men would never be able to get to him. Another part of him wanted to find Crowley and expose his father’s sick plan, and expose his father for what he really was. But instead he just suppressed what agonising hatred he felt towards his father into the pit of his stomach and faked a smile as he re-joined his mother and Dean in the queen’s quarters.

“Took your time.” Dean muttered. “My finger was beginning to cramp up.”

***

“What did you think of my wedding coat?” Castiel asked Dean as they headed back towards Castiel’s chamber.

“It’s nice.” Dean said nonchalantly with a small shrug as Castiel unlocked the door.

“You…you don’t like it, do you.” Castiel sighed as Dean shut the door behind himself. “Is it really  _that_  bad?”

“Bad? Not at all.” Dean said. “I said it looks nice.”

Castiel pouted and sat down on the corner of his bed.

Dean caught on to his sudden disappointment and sat down beside him. “What’s up?”

Castiel shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Dude, I may not be the smartest guy in this kingdom, but I’m not an idiot. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s just…you don’t seem that interested in my wedding outfit. It’s  _your_  opinion I really truly value over anyone else's, yet you don’t seem that fussed.”

“Oh,  _Cas_.” Dean sighed. “My opinion shouldn’t matter at all – it’s  _your_  big day after all.”

“So…you don’t like it? I can always ask mother to exchange it for one you like.”

“No, Cas, don’t do that. I do like it. I really do. It’s just-” Dean stopped himself from speaking and stood up, walking away slowly.

“Just  _what_?”

“It’s just that it’s hard, you know, seeing you making all these preparations to marry somebody else. And I…I…I just don’t know how to explain how I feel.” He sighed, running a tired hand through his hair. “It’s like…it’s like getting stabbed in the chest a thousand times. It hurts like hell.”

Castiel stood up and looked over at him sadly.

“I understand there’s nothing you can do, Cas, I get that. It’s just…I’ve never been as happy as I am when I’m with you, and it feels like you’re being snatched away from me. And I guess I'm a little jealous...and I know that must make me sound like a snob...But you do…you do look good, Cas. You look great in that jacket. It just hurts that this is all for somebody else.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Castiel said quietly. “ _Not for now anyway_.”

Dean walked quickly over to him and took his hands. “That’s not the point, Cas. The point is that I just want to be able to love you like I want to. I want to give you a kiss goodnight  _every_  night and wake up with your body close to mine. I want to keep you warm in the winter and keep you safe on walks in the hills. I want to be able to touch every inch of you and tell you how much I love you, and I want to be free to do so without fearing for somebody finding out about us.”

“One day we can.” Castiel said. “One day we will run off somewhere far away and-”

“No, Castiel. That will never happen and you know it. After you marry Meg you’re going to father another heir to Hell, and then you’ll rule Hell yourself one day. You’ll be a king, and I’ll never be anything more than a squire you had a…a  _fling_  with.”

Castiel felt something sharp at the back of his throat. Hearing Dean talk like that hurt – it hurt a  _lot_. He felt his eyes begin to burn as his vision clouded over with tears. “Dean, just…stop, okay? Stop talking like that.”

Dean looked down at the prince and sighed. “Man, I’m sorry.” He said pulling him close, holding him tight.

Castiel shook his head. “It’s fine.”

Dean moved a hand to hold Castiel's waist, when his fingers brushed something in his pocket. Dean reached a hand into Castiel’s pocket and retrieved a screwed up piece of parchment and began to unfold it. The prince grabbed for it but Dean escaped his grip.

“What’s this?”

“Nothing.” Castiel said quickly. “It’s nothing. Just give it back.  _Please_.”

Castiel watched as Dean’s eyes skimmed the page slowly, gradually piecing each word together to form sentences in his head. “What? Castiel, I don’t understand.”

The prince sighed and took the letter from his hands, sitting back down on the edge of the bed. Dean sat down close beside him. “It’s a letter from my father to his sister in the mountains. He’s planning on removing every heir after I marry Meg in order to claim Hell as his own.”

“Removing every heir? How?”

“By killing them, Dean. Including me.”

“What?”

“He’s going to have me killed.”

“And you’re just going to let that happen?”

“It’s probably for the best.”

“Are you listening to yourself, Castiel? You really think the best option is for you to die at the hand of your  _father_?”

“I don’t know, okay? I don’t have any idea what to do, because I never considered anything like this ever happening to me.”

Dean stood up and took the letter, pacing quickly to the wall and back in frustration. “Your father hates demons – why on earth would he want to claim the throne to rule them? Listen to me, Cas: if your father wants this throne, it’s for a reason much bigger than expanding his empire. The crown to Hell must hold something your father desperately wants. A key, maybe?”

“The key to eternal youth?” A voice came from across the room.

Dean turned around suddenly. “Goddamn it, Crowley! A little warning would be nice next time.”

“What can I say? I just love to make an entrance.” The king of hell winked as he paced into the centre of the room.

Dean rolled his eyes. “How much of our conversation did you even hear?”

“I tried to block out the mushy emotional crap – I don’t do well with emotions – but I’ve been listening to pretty much everything you’ve said since you entered the room.”

Castiel shot Dean a look of worry, which was intercepted by Crowley.

“Oh, don’t worry boys. I’ll keep your little romance a secret as long as you put your full trust in me for the time being.”

“Why in every hell should we  _ever_  trust you?” Dean spat.

“Please, Dean, this whole lack-of-trust thing is getting  _old_.”

“Just listen to what he’s got to say.” Castiel sighed. “It’s better than nothing.”

“See?” Crowley smiled at Dean. “That’s the sort of attitude you should have.”

“So what? You have a plan to tackle Bartholomew?”

“More or less, yes. You see my men, my people, have known about King Bart’s plan since it first left his lips in the drawing room. I have men giving me all the inside knowledge – gotta love a little bit of gossip.”

“Then what are you going to do about it? We can’t waste time talking about it when Castiel’s life is at stake.” Dean spat.

“And my life. And every other heir of Hell’s life.” Crowley said. “But listen, okay? I’ll tell you our plan, boys, but I can’t tell you it here. There are many snitches in this castle, and we can’t afford to let anybody know of our plan to overthrow the bloody throne. You’ll need to take a ride back to hell with me.”

“No way.” Dean said quickly. “There is no way in, uh, hell, that you’re making Castiel set foot anywhere  _near_  that shit hole.”

“I’m afraid it’s the only way I can be sure that our plan remains secret.” Crowley shrugged, stepping forwards.

Before Dean could say a single word in response, Crowley placed a hand on each of their shoulders and they found themselves folding into a stream of hot jet black smoke, travelling at what felt like a million miles an hour across the kingdom. Neither of them could really see themselves, as it were. They just felt the presence of their bodies as they travelled, condensed, compact and hot, and they couldn’t see each other either, just thick smoke streaming high up above the hills of the Stone City.

Suddenly everything blacked out, and for a split second Castiel swore he couldn’t feel the presence of his body anymore – it was as if he stopped existing for that moment in time, like his soul had vanished and left him in a sea of vast nothingness. He tried desperately to scream out, but by the time he managed to even open his mouth he was thrust hard into a hard marble floor.

The prince stood up slowly and rubbed his throbbing head as his vision cleared. He found himself standing in a dank castle hall – the walls and floor were made of a black marble incrusted with rubies that seemed to catch the flicker of the candles on the walls. Hanging from the walls were black velvet tapestries depicting Hell’s banner: a cracked ram’s skull decorated in decaying roses.

“You okay?” Dean muttered as he joined the prince by his side. “You took a fall when we landed.”

Castiel looked up at him and nodded briefly. “I’m fine.”

“Welcome to my humble domain.” Crowley said, shooting them a brief smirk as he head them down the empty hallway towards a small door at the back of the hall. Castiel felt Dean’s hand brush over his own but he pulled his hand quickly away, stepping aside to put a metre or so between them.

 

Crowley kicked the heavy oak door open for them and stepped aside. “Ladies first.”

Dean glared at him and followed Castiel inside, finding their selves in a slightly more welcoming room with red velvet wallpaper and comfortable looking armchairs. One wall was plastered with maps of Hell and the Stone City, as well as neighbouring kingdoms with pins and strings linking routes into the major villages and cities.

The prince was so caught up gazing at the maps and diagrams that he almost didn’t notice the familiar figure sitting in an armchair across the far side of the room, wearing the banner of the Stone City stitched into his cloak.

“ _Balthazar_? What the hell are you doing here?”


	7. Chapter 7

“Conspiring with the enemy, I guess.” Balthazar smiled uncertainly.

The prince looked up at him, horrified. “ _What_? I thought you were loyal to father? If he finds out you’re here he’ll have you executed for treason.”

“I have many reasons for doing this, Cassy. But what ever defense you have against me being here, Father needs to be stopped either way, and you know it. I’ll go to whatever lengths it takes in order to keep my little brother out of harm, even if that means working with demons.”

“Flattering.” A female voice came from behind them both.

Castiel turned around to see Meg standing in the doorway. She winked at Castiel and he found his cheeks suddenly reddening.

“Now we’ve finally got the whole band together, I say we get down to business.” Crowley said, stepping into the centre of the room. Castiel and Dean took a seat in an arm chair each, and Meg perched on the arm of Castiel’s. “Meg, would you like to do the honours and explain our plan?”

“Wait a second, you’ve already made the plan? Don’t we get a say in any of this?” Dean said suddenly. “If this plan is concerning us-”

“None of this concerns you, Dean. This concerns  _Castiel’s_  family and  _my_  kingdom.”

“Shouldn’t Castiel have a say in the plan, then?”

“Castiel can give whatever input he sees necessary. But for now all I’m asking is that you shut up and listen to the plan so far. Is that too hard for you to understand, or do you need me to spell it out for you?” Crowley snapped.

“Stop arguing.” Castiel sighed. “Just tell me the plan.”

“Balthazar can do the honours.” Meg smirked. “Considering he’s the one who came up with the juiciest parts.”

“My pleasure.” Balthazar smiled as he stepped into the centre of the room. “Castiel, we will wait until you and Meg are wed before we take any action. This ensures that our houses are joined. A few days after the wedding, there will be a number of killings around the castle and the Stone City. Nobody majorly important will be killed – just people of enough importance to let father know that something is coming. Something  _big_.”

“Wait a second.” Dean interjected suddenly. “You mean you’re going to kill innocent people in order to send a message? Are you out of your mind?”

“What part of ‘shut up and listen’ don’t you understand, squirrel?”

“I understand what you’re trying to do-”

“Well it’s clear you don’t,  _Dean_ , because taking down a king is not an easy job. Innocent lives will be lost however we play this – if you’re not happy with the way we run things over here in Hell, I suggest you say goodbye to your boyfriend and find a new prince to fawn over.” Crowley spat.

An awkward silence fell over the room, only broken by Castiel finally saying, “Carry on, Balthazar.”

“So once father has got the message – we will confront him. Rather,  _you_ , Castiel,  _you_  will confront him. You will tell him that you know of his intentions and you’ll tell him that you have intentions of your own to stop him.”

“You mean for me to declare war?” The young prince asked.

Balthazar nodded. “We will likely be forced into battle not long after. We will all have to fight.”

“How well do the armies of Hell fair in battle?” Castiel asked the King.

“They fight well. Of course your father’s men greatly outnumber ours.”

“That’s where my part comes into play.” Balthazar explained. “I’m the chief of the cavalry – we have enough men to outnumber the men of the Stone City if our forces combine.”

“What exactly are we fighting for?” Meg asked. “I understand we are saving the line of heirs to Hell, but that can’t be it. That wouldn’t be enough to convince the armies of Hell to combine with a cavalry of humans.”

“We’re fighting to keep Hell and the Stone City as two separate kingdoms. My father wants to combine the two in order to create an empire.” Balthazar clarified. “We’re aiming to stop him.”

“How can you be certain your cavalry will be willing to fight on the side of the demons? Humans and demons don’t usually play well together.” Meg said, running a cold finger across Castiel’s shoulders as she spoke. The prince shuffled uncomfortably and looked over at Dean who made a point to avoid eye contact by looking out across the room.

“My men are loyal to me – they will fight for any cause I believe in. They will also be against the joining of the kingdoms. Convincing them to fight will be no trouble at all.”

“Are you guys even listening to yourselves?” Dean spat, suddenly jumping to your feet. “When has war ever been the solution to a problem?”

“War is the only feasible option we have left.” Balthazar said, crossing his arms over his chest. “All our other options would be futile compared to this.”

“Innocent people will die!”

“Dean, please just calm down.” Castiel said softly.

“Listen to yourself, Cas! This isn’t like you; the Cas I know would never be happy with this…the Cas I know would find an alternative to violence. After being abused by your father your whole life, you’re honestly looking to seek revenge by equal violence?”

Castiel fell silent and looked down at his feet for a few long seconds. “I just don’t know what else to do.”

“Just listen to me, okay, Cas: we can figure something else out. We don’t have to go along with this  _insane_  plan.” Dean sighed. “Please, Cas, I’m _begging_  you.”

The young prince shook his head slowly. “Crowley’s right, Dean. This plan has nothing to do with you. In the end, it’s not your life at stake here: it’s mine, Meg’s, Azazel’s and Crowley’s.”

Dean took one last look at the prince and stormed quickly out of the room. Castiel stood up to follow after him but he was stopped by Crowley. “Leave him.”

“But-”

“Leave him be.” Crowley said.

***

As Balthazar ran off to locate Dean, Castiel found himself alone with Meg on a balcony at the top of the castle, overlooking the towns of Hell. There was stark difference compared to the towns and villages of the Stone City back home; here every house was made of dark wood, lopsided and seemingly run-down. Back home every building was made of sandy stone that sat clean and proud, row upon row at the foot of the valleys that surrounded them. Here the air hung thick was smoke, and bodies lay discarded in piles at the sides of the streets. Back home you’d never see a sight of the sort; the people of the Stone City kept their streets clean and tidy – never a sign of any mistreatment of their home towns.

“Welcome to Hell on Earth.” Meg smiled as Castiel looked out at the view with hidden uncertainty.

“It’s…different than the City back home.”

“ _Home_?” Meg laughed. “ _This_  will be your home soon.”

“As will the Stone City be yours.”

“The Stone City will never truly be my home; I’ve lived centuries here in Hell. A piece of me will belong here, no matter who I marry or where I move to.”

“Centuries?” Castiel frowned. “How old  _are_  you?”

Meg bit her lip and looked away with a slight smirk. “Does age really matter?”

“It does to me.” Castiel insisted.

“Well I’m not too certain of the exact number, but I’d say I’m nearly four hundred years old.”

Castiel stepped back, startled. “You look so…so… _young_.”

Meg laughed. “This isn’t my original vessel.” She looked out at the city below that seemed to stretch on past the horizon. “This is the body of a whore from a brothel nearly a hundred miles from here. My original vessel was torn to pieces by a hound. I have to admit, I do miss my original vessel sometimes. There’s something so about having the body of a whore that makes me feel so  _unclean_. Coming from a demon, that’s saying something.”

“Well I think you’re pretty.” Castiel mumbled shyly. It was half true. She certainly wasn’t ugly; he just wasn’t attracted to her like he was to Dean.

“And that’s a good thing too, kid, considering we’re due to marry next week.”

Castiel felt something twist inside of him.

“You’re not gettin’ cold feet already, are you?”

“No. Of course not. I want to marry you.” Castiel lied.

“Till death do us part…” She mumbled, letting a small smile creep into the corner of her lips. “… _lord knows, we’re already dead_.”

Castiel frowned and turned back around to face the castle. “What does it feel like?”

“What?”

“Being a demon; does it feel different to being human?”

Meg thought about that for a second, before walking over to the young prince of the Stone City, taking both of his hands in hers, and looked him dead in the eyes. “I don’t know, kid. You tell me: does it feel different?”

Castiel stepped quickly away from her and looked over to the door just as Crowley appeared.

“Your pet has been located. Are you ready to take him home?”

***

Since their visit to Hell, neither Castiel nor Dean spoke of the plans for battle to one another. In fact if the conversation appeared to be leaning that way, Dean would hastily change the subject onto something less heavy in an attempt to lighten the mood and save the argument. It was true. Every time the topic did come up, either one of them would end up angrily storming out of the room and they’d not speak for hours on end until either of them plucked up the courage to just pretend that the argument had never even happened, and carry on talking as normal.

Dean was concerned, though, that talk of war was changing the prince. Castiel never seemed to enjoy doing the things he used to anymore, like sitting in the gardens surrounded by flowers of going down to the river to fish. They’d walk down to the water’s edge together with their fishing rods and bait, but the prince wouldn’t dare pick it up. Instead he’d just sit writing in his journal or watching Dean. And if they went into the gardens, Castiel become quiet and withdrawn, as if the flowers he used to be so passionate about had lost his interest. If he was being honest, he was actually starting to worry about the prince more than he usually did.

***

It was a couple of days before the wedding and Dean had managed to persuade Castiel to go on a ride with him up into the hills in an attempt to distance him from the castle for just a few hours or so. Dean had only been working in the castle for a few months, and he already knew that long periods of time within the castle walls could make people desperate to escape them.

They reached the hilltop faster than they had in the past – mostly because Dean had become a reasonably good rider and he wasn’t so afraid of his horse anymore – and they made it just in time to see the sky turn gold.

“It’s so relaxing out here.” Dean breathed as he sat back against his arms, looking out at the castle grounds in front of them.

Castiel didn’t respond, and when Dean looked over at him he found the prince writing in his journal yet again.

“Maybe you could put that away for a few minutes and, you know, enjoy the view?”

The prince sighed and stowed it away in his bag. “My apologies.”

“What were you writing about?”

“Us.” Castiel replied. “And the things we used to do.”

“We could still do those things, Cas.”

He leant his head against Dean’s shoulder. “It doesn’t feel right to have fun anymore. Things have changed, Dean. The only thing I can think about now is fighting.”

Dean stood up and offered his hand to Castiel. “Then teach me to fight.”

Castiel took it, and Dean helped him to his feet. “I don’t know, Dean, I’ve never taught anybody to fight before.”

“You’re a knight – you’re the best person for me to learn from. Besides, I’d like a little preparation if I’m going to fight in this upcoming battle. We’ve both got our swords with us right now, so why not give it a shot?”

Castiel gave a reluctant smile and pulled his sword from the sheath on his belt; Dean followed suit.

“Okay.” Dean winked. “I’m ready. Hit me with your best shot.”

Castiel sighed. “I would, but you’re standing all wrong. If I hit you you’ll have no chance at defending yourself. Stand with your legs a shoulder’s width a part – it will give you more stability when you fight.”

Dean nodded and positioned himself into his new stance, sword held firmly in his hand.

“Now advance forwards and hit me.” Castiel ordered.

“Hit you? You’ve gotta fight back or else I’ll hurt you.” He frowned, dropping his sword to his side.

“Just do it, Dean.”

“Wha-”

Castiel advanced quickly forwards and Dean stumbled backwards in surprise, only just managing to raise his sword in time to protect himself. The young prince swung around and went in for another hit, only to be successfully blocked by the side of Dean’s blade. Before Dean could think to recover his position, the prince grabbed Dean’s free arm and twisted him around, kicking him once in the back of the knee which sent him falling to the grass with a thud. The prince dusted his hands on his jacket before offering a hand to help him up.

“Never lose your position.” Castiel advised. “If you’re unprepared, you’ll make an easier target.”

Dean huffed and rubbed his knees as he tried to hide the small smirk creeping onto his lips. “I thought we were  _sword_  fighting.”

Castiel ignored him and took his stance again. “Let’s try that again.”

Dean nodded and held his sword out eagerly.

As soon as Castiel gave the order, Dean lunged forwards. However his advance was unsuccessful because the prince blocked it nearly instantly, sending a deafening clank ringing out across the valley.

“Keep your elbows bent and close to your body.” Castiel directed as he blocked another of Dean’s attacks. “You don’t want to lose an arm in a sword fight.”

Dean raised his sword and went in for an attack, successfully dodging Castiel's blows with a mess of clumsy footwork. Castiel laughed at the way Dean bounded away like a newly birthed foal that hadn't found it's balance yet. The prince followed after him down the hill, only just managing to duck a sudden attack from Dean that nearly caught him off guard. Thankfully he managed to catch up with his squire, and ended up throwing his sword to the floor in order to jump up onto Dean piggy-back style, which caught Dean entirely by surprise, and only managed to stop the two of them falling backwards into the grass by dropping his own sword and stumbling forwards to regain balance. 

"Hey," Dean laughed as he spun around, holding tightly onto Castiel's legs so that that didn't fall. "I don't think that's going to help either of us win a war."

Castiel fastened his arms around Dean's shoulders and giggled the way a little kid would. "I don't care."

Dean spun around once more, but this time Castiel slipped from Dean's grip and ended up in a heap on a floor with Dean stumbling dizzily to the ground too. For a brief moment the prince and his squire just lay there laughing so hard it hurt their stomachs, looking up at the way the sun made the clouds glow amber. But then the mood changed. And the laughter faded. And it dawned on both of them that they'd probably never laugh like that with each other again after the day of the wedding.

"Are you okay?" Castiel asked with a sigh

"Yeah. Are you?"

"I'm fine. I think we should get back to the fighting."

Dean nodded seriously and scrambled to his feet, picking up his sword from where it lay discarded and muddied in the grass.

Their practice fighting ensued, but this time it was a lot more serious. Dean didn't have that playful smirk that he'd held before as the prince attacked him. Castiel didn't think of it as so much of a game anymore. And both of them suddenly felt the weight of their swords in their hands as they slowly realised that they'd be killing real people in a matter of weeks.

 

Dean let out a huff of exasperation as Castiel continued to block his blows. If he was being honest, he didn’t expect the prince to be that good of a fighter, even if he  _was_  a knight. He just assumed that Castiel had only received the title of being a knight because he was the prince. He was so foolish to believe he could have actually had a chance against him in battle, but it made him feel a little bit better knowing that he was actually able to defend himself if the situation called for it.

Maybe Castiel wouldn’t need him looking after him forever like Dean had promised to…Maybe one day Castiel wouldn’t need him there at all…

He was distracted from his revelations by a sudden blow to the stomach that sent him crashing to the ground. For a few long seconds he just lay there while he collected his thoughts, and then slowly climbed to his feet to face Castiel.

“Never lose concentration.” Castiel said. He noticed Dean’s sudden faraway look and lowered his own sword. “Are you okay, Dean?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Just got distracted for a second there, that’s all.”

Castiel watched his face for a moment. He still looked… _lost_. Not sad as such, more like he’d suddenly lost a piece of himself and he didn’t quite know what to do without it. “It’s getting dark.” Castiel said, suddenly noticing how the golden sky had faded into a deep maroon. “We should probably head back to the castle.”

 

***

As the pair rode back to the castle later that night, Dean decided that he would return to his village instead of joining Castiel and the rest of his family for dinner in the dining all. Dean didn’t offer much of as explanation as to why he’d decided that, but he did mutter something about his dad’s friend getting a new boat that he wanted to check out while he had the time. Castiel agreed to let him go, but he still found it strange to suddenly find himself apart from Dean. 

At dinner, Castiel found that Meg, Crowley and Azazel had already arrived at the castle in order to start making preparations for the wedding in a few days. They had joined Castiel’s family for dinner and the prince quickly worked out that that had been the reason why Dean had been so keen to miss that particular evening meal. In fact, Dean would’ve been sat a good few metres away from the prince in order to accommodate their guests at the dinner table anyway, and Dean had probably worked this out long before the dinner was set to commence, considering  _he_  was the one who had to set the places.

“Where’s your pet?” Crowley asked as he spooned a large forkful of pork pie into his mouth.

Castiel didn’t look up as he spoke. “Visiting his village.”

“Oh, good. I was beginning to worry that his absence had something to do with us being here.” Crowley replied.

“I get the vibe that he doesn’t like us all that much.” Meg frowned from beside her husband-to-be. “Can’t see why.”

“He just disagrees with some of your… _tactics_.” Castiel said as Meg reached over him to grab a small pot of gravy.

“Hey, Cassy, watch this!” Balthazar grinned before throwing a small handful of salt at Meg. She reacted instantly as if she’d been suddenly doused in acid and stood up, desperately brushing it from her clothes with her sleeve pulled over her hand as her skin seemed to burn.

“You  _dick_.” She spat as she continued to brush the salt off.

“Balthazar, behave.” The queen warned with a sigh. “I deeply apologise, Meg.”

“It’s fine.” She huffed before turning back to her father. “I can’t believe I’m due to live here after I’m wed.”

“It’s only temporary.” Azazel reminded her quietly before taking a sip of wine.

“ _Still_.” She said, rolling her eyes as she sat back in her chair.

“Demons have a slight  _aversion_  to salt, as it were.” Crowley explained to the young prince. “Many superstitious folk used to line their windows and doors with the stuff to keep us out. Bloody idiots if you ask me – people who put salt out to ward us off aren’t worth stealing from anyway.”

Castiel turned back to Meg and gave her a sorry smile. “My apologies.”


	8. Chapter 8

**_The smut was written for me by my lovely twitter friend layken bc I dislike writing smut (sorry). Also if you’d rather skip the sex scene it’s written between two lines so you know where it begins and ends._ **

After Meg, Azazel and Crowley had made their selves at home in the castle on the run up to the wedding, Castiel began to see a lot less of Dean than he would’ve liked. In fact, Castiel was lucky to spend a full hour with Dean without him making some ridiculous excuse about needing to see his family for one reason or another. Every time Castiel tried to talk to him about it he’d be so goddamn evasive, and would tell the prince that he was just running errands for his brother while his father left town for a few days and that he shouldn’t worry.

Dean had also begun to avoid spending nights with the prince too, and Castiel decided that sleeping alone was not something he particularly liked. He’d wake up in the middle of the night expecting to see Dean’s face inches from his own and hear his steady soft snoring. He’d roll over and expect to be consumed in Dean’s warmth, or find Dean’s arms hanging loosely around his waist, ready to pull him close and kiss him good morning when the new dawn broke. But instead he was greeted with nothing more than a cold empty space beside him and a silence that seemed to echo painfully from wall to wall whenever he sat up in a cold sweat after a bad dream.

But more than anything it upset him. It upset him because he knew that in a matter of days, Dean’s space in the bed would be filled by Meg. Castiel would never get the chance to wake up beside Dean ever again, and he felt like he was losing what little chance he had left to make the most of it. He just wanted Dean.

***

It was finally the night before the wedding and Castiel had managed to convince Dean to spend one last night with him. To be honest, it didn’t take much convincing on Castiel’s part, because he could tell that Dean was desperate to spend the night with him anyway.

However once the two had entered the bedroom and Castiel had locked the door behind them, Dean became extremely uncertain about it. He almost completely froze up, and wouldn’t dare look Castiel in the eye as if he felt somewhat guilty for the many other times he’d slept beside the prince when he was due to marry somebody else.

Castiel sat down on his bed and kicked his boots off onto the floor. Dean bent down to pick them up, and Castiel felt a wave of guilt wash over him. “Leave them, Dean. You don’t need to tidy them away – that’s not your job.”

Dean ignored him and stowed them away anyway.

“Listen, Dean, after the wedding I was thinking that maybe I could continue teaching you to fight, it would be fun and we’d get to spend some time alone tog-”

Dean looked up at him and sent him a small smile with a dismissive wave of his hand. “It’s fine, Cas. I’m no good at fighting anyway. There’s no need to waste your time.”

Castiel sighed to himself and looked down at his feet as he kicked them into the empty space in front of him, thinking to himself. “Come here.”

“What?”

“I said, come here.” Castiel said, patting the space next to him on the bed.

“No, dude, listen…I  _can’t_.” Dean admitted. “You’re getting married tomorrow and –”

“I, Prince Castiel of the Stone City, third heir to Hell, third son of King Bartholomew, command you to come here.”

Castiel watched small crinkles appear at the corners of Dean’s uncertain eyes as he looked down at his hands with shy amusement. “I suppose can’t argue with that.” Dean said quietly, kicking off his own shoes in order to climb onto the bed.

He lay himself down beside Castiel, and found the Prince instantly move into him. Dean sighed and looked down at the prince curled up beside him, and couldn’t resist reaching over to take his hand, stroking it affectionately with his thumb.

“Will we still find time to do this after I’m married?” Castiel asked sleepily.

Dean let out a short laugh. “Will _you_ have time to do this, more like.”

Castiel huffed as he sat up. “I’ll make sure I have time.”

Dean watched him closely as he moved closer to kiss him, and Dean couldn’t keep his eyes of the prince’s lips until they met his own. He found the prince’s hands on his waist, his neck, and suddenly he was sitting over Dean, kissing him even harder.

Before Dean could catch a breath or register his thoughts, he was quickly slipping out of his clothes as Castiel did the same. He was moving slowly, lightly carding his fingers through Castiel’s hair as he and deepened their kiss. Castiel shut his eyes tightly, trying to drown out his own thoughts and focus on Dean, but nothing seemed to help. When Dean’s fingers trailed down to his arms and his lips shifted to press against his neck, Castiel sucked in an audible breath and tensed visibly, eyes flying open wide.

“I’ve never done this before.” Castiel breathed.

“Done what?”

“This.”

Dean smiled up at Castiel and kissed him again, mostly because he wanted to kiss him, but also because he just wanted him to stop talking. But suddenly the prince pulled away from the kiss and his hands fell from where they had been gently holding Dean’s shoulders.

Dean pulled away and examined his face. “Cas?” he said tentatively. Castiel met Dean’s gaze. “You okay?”

Castiel bit his lip nervously and looked at his hands, folded in his lap. “I’m fine. Just…confused.”

“About what?”

“About this. About what we’re doing.”

Dean smiled understandingly and reached out a hand to brush his fingers across Castiel’s cheek. Castiel leaned into the touch, it was soft and unassuming—there was no pressure or desire in it, just love—and that was what he needed most. “We don’t have to do this, Cas,” Dean said quietly, withdrawing his hand. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Castiel considered this. “No,” he said finally. “No, I want to do this. Just…go slowly, okay?"

Dean smiled, moving closer again. Castiel lifted his arms to wrap them around Dean’s neck and pull him back into a long, slow kiss. The skin of Dean’s arms were hot to the touch, and Cas felt like it was burning him up with every inch of his own skin pressed against Dean’s.

\----------------------------------------------------

It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant feeling, he realized. That familiar tightening in his stomach had returned as Dean moved his mouth down to the prince’s collarbone, nipping and licking the skin and bringing his fingers down to the other boy’s thighs. He paused for a fraction of a second as if still seeking permission and Castiel let out a soft noise of approval.

Dean moved slower, pressing his mouth to each inch of his bare neck, as if he were trying to map every inch of Castiel’s body. Castiel quivered. The fire that had started low in his gut had now spread to his crotch and Dean didn’t seem to have noticed, or he was making a point not to direct his attention to it, and it was driving Castiel slightly mad.

“You’re beautiful, Cas. Really, you are.” he murmured. Castiel could feel his cheeks reddening. No one had ever looked at him that way before or said those words in such earnest. He had no idea how to respond except to tug on Dean’s arms to pull him back down for another kiss. Dean kissed him back then moved his lips back down to Castiel’s chest, sucking his skin softly, littering it with small red marks.

“Dean…,” he groaned, sliding his hands to Dean’s waist. He bucked up against Dean’s thigh, which was nestled between his legs, and hissed at the burn of pleasure. He felt wild, unrestrained, and desperate. He had never felt desire like this: all-consuming. He felt like someone different and simultaneously like he was suddenly, finally, entirely himself. “Dean.” he pleaded quietly again. For a moment he paused; he was naked in front of another boy, and for the first time in his life he could feel his cheeks reddening at the thought of what anybody would say if they knew. Dean swept his fingers across his red face gently and grinned.

“Absolutely perfect.” he whispered, dipping down to brush his lips where his hand had been a moment before.

“Dean, I—I,” Cas mumbled, his voice shy.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Castiel nodded honestly and Dean nodded silently in return.

“You have to relax for me. It might hurt a bit at first but if you relax and trust me, I’ll make you feel so good. I promise.”

Cas bit his lip as Dean stroked him a few more times, slow and deliberate, then moved his hand down, lightly brushing Castiel’s inner thigh, before running the tip of one finger lightly around the rim of Castiel’s hole.

“You have to tell me you trust me, Cas. I need you to trust me.” Dean said and his voice was suddenly just as wrecked as Castiel’s had been. Castiel sucked in a deep breath, forcing his muscles to relax…

“I trust you, Dean,” he whispered, shutting his eyes and leaning his head back as the two switched places, bracing himself as Dean climbed on top.

“Look at me, Cas,” Dean said firmly. Cas opened his eyes and fixed them on Dean’s green ones. “Keep your eyes on me.”

Dean lowered his hand between Castiel’s legs again, barely ghosting the skin of this inner thigh and tracing his rim once more. This time, however, Castiel felt him push the tip of his finger in gently, willing Castiel’s body to open for him. Dean’s eyes never left his and he began purring soft words of encouragement. “That’s it, Cas. Just relax. So good, you’re so good, so beautiful…”

Castiel focused on the sound of Dean’s voice and willed his breathing to stay steady, willed his body to remain relaxed, but the more he focused on what was happening, the more tense he found himself becoming. His eyes threatened to close but he forced himself to keep them open and fixed on Dean. Dean slid his finger out slowly, almost all the way, then back in with a little force. The prince bit down hard on his lip but nodded minutely, a signal that Dean could continue. Dean worked that first finger in and out of Castiel’s tight channel for several minutes before adding a second. Castiel was well beyond the press of pain and was panting and gasping at each stroke, rolling his hips down onto Dean’s hand.

“Dean,” he choked out, lifting his hand to push his hair off his sweat-sheened forehead. “Dean, now. Please. I need…more. I need you.”

Dean stroked Castiel’s thighs gently, leaning in to press kisses to his damp skin. He added a third finger, very nearly sending Cas over the edge, before finally pulling his hand away, and then Dean was lowering himself to Castiel, lifting and spreading Castiel’s legs wider and settling between them. He pressed the head of his dick against the prince’ open hole.

Despite his prep, Castiel was still unbelievably tight, and without any means of lubrication, he had to work slowly as he pushed in, taking deep, steadying breaths with every inch. Finally, he bottomed out and he took a moment to catch his breath and examine his prince. Castiel’s eyes were still open, still trained on Dean, and Dean smiled and touched his mouth to Castiel’s in a chaste but passionate kiss.

“I love you, Cas,” Dean said against his mouth and he tasted Castiel’s response as he licked into his mouth and kissed him again. He moved out slowly before thrusting back in deep, sending a shiver through Castiel’s skin. Dean set a rhythm, slow and sweet, spurred on by Castiel’s breathing.

“Move with me, Cas,” he said gently, sliding his hands under Castiel’s hips, teaching him how. Castiel picked up the motion on his own and met Dean thrust for thrust, leaving them both gasping as they tumbled towards release. Dean tried to maintain a speed that wasn’t uncomfortable for Castiel but Castiel spurred him on, digging his fingers into Dean’s shoulders and begging for more in a wrecked voice. Dean picked up speed, his thrusts becoming erratic and Castiel could tell he was close.

“Cas…” Dean reached between them and wrapped Castiel’s flushed dick in his hand, stroking it in time with his thrusts. Castiel’s nerves were livewires, his whole body riding the edge of oblivion. Dean thrust in deep, once, twice and Castiel’ vision blurred and blacked out around the edges as he came in hot, sticky burst. Dean groaned loudly as Castiel clenched around him and came too, riding his orgasm out as long as he could, clutching Castiel close to him, but being sure not to look away from Castiel’s faraway eyes.

\----------------------------------------------------

“Oh god.” Dean moaned.

Casitel smiled to himself and kissed Dean’s nose.

“Oh my god.” Dean said again. Louder this time.

This time Castiel looked up at him expecting to see an expression of pleasure, but it was in fact the opposite. Dean’s face was flushed white, his mouth open in shock as he stared up at the prince’s face in horror.

“What is it?” Castiel panted.

“Your…your eyes, Cas…”

“What? What about them?”

“They’re  _black_.”

***

“Cas, calm down. It’s okay…we’ll sort this out. Just calm down, would you?”

The prince ignored him and hurriedly pulled his clothes back on, desperately willing himself not to cry in front of Dean.

“Cas. Stop it. Just come back to bed.” Dean begged, climbing down from the bed to pull Castiel into a hug. “Just calm down.”

Castiel cowered away from him and hid his face from him as he continued to redress himself. “Don’t look at me.”

“Castiel, please just stop. ” Dean took the prince by his shoulders but he still refused to look his squire in the eye. “It doesn’t matter, okay?”

“Doesn’t matter?” Castiel cried. “I’m a monster.”

“No, Cas, no you’re not. You’re Cas. You’re  _you_.”

Castiel fought away from him but Dean wouldn’t let him slip that easily.

“Look at me.”

Castiel shook his head and desperately wiped the tears from his cheeks.

“Cas,” Dean sighed as he took the prince’s face in his hands. “Look at me.”

“I can’t. I’m  _disgusting_.”

Dean shook his head and stroked away the tears that lined Castiel’s cheeks with his thumb. “You, of all people, could never be ‘hideous’, Cas.”

The prince looked up at him slowly, tentatively, for just second before returning his gaze to the floor and shutting his eyes tightly. “I can’t.”

“Your eyes have returned to normal.” Dean said in a breath of relief, pulling Castiel closer to him. The prince collapsed against his squire’s bare chest and began to cry harder as Dean desperately kissed his head to calm him down. “Shh. Cas, it’s okay.”

“I’m a monster.” Castiel muttered through his tears. “I’m a monster.”

“You’re not a monster. You could never be a monster. Sure, you’re not quite human but you’re certainly not a monster.”

“Help me fix it.” Castiel cried.

Dean placed his lips against Castiel’s hair and sighed. “I don’t know if I can, Cas.”

Castiel pulled away from Dean and sat down on the bed with his head in his hands. “Remember that day I fainted? I overheard father saying he was scared I was going to turn out like Crowley. Mother said that she knew I’d been different ever since I was born – that I was like Crowley. D-do you think this is what she meant? That I’ve been a demon ever since I was born?”

Dean climbed back into his own underwear before sitting beside him. “I don’t know, Cas. But what I do know that this doesn’t change anything. Who cares if you’re a demon? You’re still my prince – my Cas – and I still love you just as much as I always have done.”

Castiel looked down at his hands in disgust. “Meg must’ve known what I really was. That’s why she chose to marry me – they couldn’t possibly carry on a line of heirs to rule Hell without their line being pure-blooded demon. Father should've drowned me in the bath when I was a baby, like he'd planned.”

There was a long silence of realisation broken by Castiel sighing.

“Get some sleep, okay? You’ve got a big day ahead of you tomorrow.”

Castiel nodded and climbed back under the covers, rolling over to face the wall and closed his eyes shut tight, wondering how Dean on Earth could even stand to look at him, let alone claim to still love him, knowing that he was a demon – a descendant of Hell. But then he realised: if what Dean now thought of him was anything close to how Castiel now thought of himself, Dean would be half a mile across the kingdom by now.

“I’ll be right here beside you until the moment you wake up.” Dean said, kissing the back of Castiel’s neck as he lay himself down close behind him. Castiel felt Dean place an arm around his waist to keep him close, and Castiel leant back into Dean’s warmth, wishing he never had to wake up again if they could just stay lying there together like that forever.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

Castiel woke the next morning to the sound of somebody knocking hard on his door, followed by the sound of his mother’s voice.

“Castiel, get up! Up! Get up now! You’ve only got three hours to get ready; I’ve let you sleep in as long as I possibly can.”

He rubbed his raw eyes and looked back at Dean who was still fast asleep pressed up against him, snoring softly through his nose.

“Coming.” Castiel hissed; not too loud in order to be sure he didn’t wake Dean.

“Get washed up. I’ll meet you down in my quarters in an hour.”

Castiel nodded in silent agreement and shifted his body so that he was now facing Dean. He watched him sleep for a few long seconds; there was just something so comforting seeing Dean lying there so peacefully and unaware of the world around him. It was as if Dean’s unconscious vulnerability made Castiel’s platonic affection grow for him; he could easily just lie there beside him and watch him sleep for hours on end.

He lifted a hand to wake him but decided against it. He’d let Dean wake in his own time – it was only fair to let him remain at ease for a little while longer considering how much Dean had been dreading his prince’s wedding since the date was confirmed. The only thing more painful than knowing he will never truly be able to be with Dean was watching Dean become more and more on edge about the whole situation leading up to that point. He didn’t want to have to notice out of the corner of his eye the way Dean looked at him with such a sad, helpless look on his face. He didn’t want to have to pretend that he never noticed the way Dean’s jaw would clench at the mention of the word ‘wedding’ or ‘Meg’. And he certainly didn’t want to have to notice the way Dean’s ‘I Love You’s had started to become more and more desperate.

Castiel kissed Dean’s cheek and quickly climbed out of bed, grimacing at the sudden chill he received once he left the confines of Dean’s arms behind. He quickly grabbed a towel from where it was sitting in a neat pile on his desk and tiptoed across the cold marble tiles of his bedroom floor into the bathroom. Just as he splashed the cold water over his face in a dire attempt to wake himself up, he heard his bedroom door slam shut. Quickly he poked his head back round the bathroom door and found that Dean was gone from the bed and he was now, more or less, alone.

***

Castiel felt his body become heavier with dread as each person entered the great hall. From where he was standing at the back of the hall beside his father’s golden throne, he saw that there must’ve been at least five hundred guests already sitting in their seats waiting for the wedding to commence (another five hundred more due to arrive). As he stood there in his maroon jacket and shiny black boots that Balthazar had given to him as a wedding present that morning, he began to look around desperately for any sign of Dean. But by the time the great hall was full and the young prince had sent four maids off in search for him, it was too late and the wedding was due to begin any second.

 

Crowley entered from a side door from across the room and winked once at Castiel, who felt his bones turn to lead with absolute dread. The only thing he could do to reassure himself was look round at his family stationed behind him in a desperate attempt to catch sight of Dean, but it was futile, and Dean was still nowhere to be seen.

Trumpets began to play from the galleries above the great hall and suddenly a silence of anticipation fell across the hall. The big golden doors opened and in stepped Meg on her father’s arm dressed in an elegant black dress, followed by three young girls dressed in long scarlet dresses, each with a small basket of black roses each. Castiel couldn’t deny that his wife-to-be looked beautiful: her hair was done up in a bun with two curled strands framing her small face, her lips were painted red as she smiled courteously to the guests who watched in awe.

The prince watched shyly as she carefully climbed the steps before the golden throne and took Castiel’s hand in her own. As Azazel returned to his place behind his daughter next to Crowley, the prince noticed an exchange of words between the two, to which Crowley responded to with a discreet nod before crossing his arms across his chest.

“You look nice.” Castiel mumbled honestly, looking up at her with a small smile.

“And you look pretty hot for a seventeen year old boy.” Meg winked.

The trumpets started again as the king emerged from the back of the hall, only to be greeted by every guest in the room dropping down to one knee out of respect.

“Those damn trumpets ruined our moment.” Meg muttered with a smile as the king gestured for the guests to stand and return to their seats.

“My people, my kingdom, my honest men and women. It’s of vast gratitude that I thank you for coming to bear witness to this historic occasion: the day two kingdoms are united in the eyes of the four Gods. When you leave this room, you will have been part of a revolution – a step towards peace for demon and human kind alike. It’s no secret of my wife’s family’s historic background concerning demon kind, especially considering her uncle, Crowley, the king of Hell, was born as part of the demonic race. But in order to obtain complete harmony between the races, we agreed to commence with this wedding.”

Castiel looked back at his family one last time in search for Dean. But his space was still unoccupied.

“So, without further ado, let this ceremony begin.”

There was a brief round-of-applause as the King took his seat in his golden throne at the head of the room and the priest took his place in front of Meg and Castiel.

The priest cleared his throat and began to speak, “We have come together here in celebration of the joining together of Megan Masters, follower of the fallen, second heir to Hell, and Prince Castiel of the Stone City, third son of Bartholomew. There are many things to say about marriage. Much wisdom concerning the joining together of two souls, has come our way through all paths of belief, and from many cultures. With each union, more knowledge is gained and more wisdom gathered. Though we are unable to give all this knowledge to these two who stand before us, we can hope to leave with them the knowledge of love and its strengths and the anticipation of the wisdom that comes with time. The law of life is love for all beings. Without love, life is nothing, without love, death has nothing to claim. Love is a window to life, yet equally a door to death. If we learn no more in life, let it be this:”

Castiel looked down at his feet as the priest continued to speak.

“Marriage is a bond to be made only after considerable thought and reflection. As with any aspect of life, it has its cycles, its ups and its downs, its loses and its victories. With full understanding of this, groom and bride have come here today to be joined as one in marriage.”

Balthazar stepped forwards beside his younger brother holding a small golden ring in his hand.

“Let us join hands and listen to what I am about to say. Above you are the stars, below you are the stones, as time will pass, remember: like a stone should your love be strong; like a star should your love be constant. Let the powers of the mind and knowledge guide you in your marriage, let the strength of your wills bind you together, let the power of love and desire make you happy, and the strength of your dedication make you inseparable. Be close, but not too close. Possess one another, yet be understanding. Have patience with one another, for storms will come, but they will pass quickly.” The priest continued. “Be free in giving affection and warmth. Have no fear and let not the ways of the unenlightened give you unease, for the four gods are with you always.

The priest then stepped out in front of the prince. “Castiel, I don’t have the right to join you to your bride. Only you have this right. If it be your wish, say so at this time and place your ring in her hand.”

“It is my wish.” Castiel said coldly, taking the ring from his brother and, with shaking hands, slipped the ring onto Meg’s finger. He glanced back at Balthazar as he took his place again beside Gabriel and the place where Dean should have been.

The priest then stepped out in front of Meg. “Megan, if it be your wish for Castiel to be bound to you, place the ring on his finger. I do not have the right to join you to Castiel. Only you have this right. If it be your wish, say so at this time and place your ring in his hand.”

“It is my wish.” Meg smiled, reaching out to take a ring from Azazel’s hand, before picking up Castiel’s hand and slipping the ring carefully onto his fourth finger.

“Castiel, you may pledge your oath.” The priest nodded.

The prince took a deep breath and cleared his throat, praying to whatever Gods were listening that he wouldn’t fuck this up: “I, in the name of the spirit of Gods that reside within us all, by the life that courses within my blood and the love that resides within my heart, take thee, Megan Masters, follower of the fallen second heir to Hell, to be my hand, my heart, and my spirit, to be my chosen one. To desire you and be desired by you, to possess you, and be possessed by you, without sin or shame, for it cannot exist in the purity of my love for you. I promise to love you wholly and completely without restraint, in sickness and in health, for richer and in poverty, in life and beyond, where we shall meet, remember and love again. I shall not seek to change you in any way. I shall respect you, your beliefs, your people, and your ways, just as I respect myself.”

Castiel looked over his shoulder at his brothers as Meg pledged her oath. Balthazar winked at him with a slight smile, and Gabriel just rolled his eyes and adverted his gaze elsewhere.

“By the power invested in me by the four Gods and the power of the Stone City,” The priest began, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. May your love be so strong that its flame remains a guiding light for you both.”

Before Castiel could even begin to process a second thought, he found Meg stepping up onto her tiptoes to kiss him as the guests began to cheer. The prince found his face flushing red as she refused to pull away, and in the end he found that the only way he’d be able to stop her from kissing him was to just endure it.

***

All one thousand one hundred and sixty two guests made their way into the dining hall for the royal wedding feast; almost every single one of them stopping to congratulate Castiel and Meg on their special day on the way out. Meg nearly refused to leave Castiel’s side. She stood close to him with their finger’s interlocked, and didn’t even allow Castiel to break contact for just a few seconds in order to wipe his sweaty hands on his trousers.

“I think I’m going to head up to my quarters to change into something more practical for dinner.” Castiel announced. “I don’t want to ruin these new clothes.”

Meg smirked and pulled him closer so that their foreheads were nearly touching and flashed the black of her demon eyes. “Want me to come with you?” She whispered in a growl.

Castiel stepped back suddenly. “No. No, I’ll be really quick. I promise.” He said nervously.

She bit her lip and winked at him. “Can’t get away from me that easily, kid. I’m your wife now.”

“I know. I know that. I just want to get changed…I can do that by myself.”

She sighed sarcastically and looked out at the masses of people filing into their seats at the four long wood tables that stretched out down the dining hall. “But I’m sure nobody would notice we were missing if we make it quick.”

“Make what quick?”

Meg laughed. “Forget it. Just go get changed. I’ll be right here waiting for you when you get back.”

***

Castiel hurried up the marble stair case taking two steps at a time, mentally preparing what he’d change into once he reached his wardrobe. He burst into his bedroom and half-jogged over to his wardrobe as he unbuttoned his maroon over-coat until he noticed somebody sitting on his window ledge, looking out at the valleys and the hills and the water that sat at the bottom surrounding the three villages and the Stone City.

“Dean?”

He didn’t turn around as the prince approached him. It took a hand on his arm to bring him back to reality, and when his gaze finally drifted onto Castiel, the prince saw that his eyes were swollen red from crying.

“ _Dean_?!”

“Oh, hi, Cas.” He mumbled lifelessly.

“What are you doing in here? You weren’t at the ceremony…I was worried about you.”

“Couldn’t do it. Just couldn’t do it, Cas. I’m sorry.” Dean swung his legs down from the window sill so that he was standing before his prince. “So I came here to look out at the hills. Do you remember that first trek we took the morning after we first met? We rode into the hills and you saved me from getting beat up by that demon. It’s funny, isn’t it, how you’re now marrying one of them? How you’ve been one of them all along?”

Castiel felt a sick feeling setting into his stomach.

“I’m sorry. I really am.” Dean said. “I should’ve been there. But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t bear to see it.”

“See what?” Castiel asked quietly, taking one of his squire’s hands.

“I couldn’t bear to see you pledge your oath to somebody else. I get it: I’m selfish. I know I should’ve been there for y-”

“Dean, it’s okay.” Castiel sighed. “I understand.”

Dean shook his head slowly and ran a hand over his face before sitting back up on the window sill. “It doesn’t even matter if you understand anyway, anymore. I’m leaving.”

“ _What_?”                         

“After the war is one, I’m gone. I’m going to travel the world in a boat my dad’s friend owns. I’m going to see new places that I can’t even imagine and meet new people in every town I visit. I’m going to leave.”

“No…Dean…wh-…” The prince trailed off. “You don’t need to leave to do that…you can come with me. I’ll travel across the kingdom with you…I promise we can do that someday. Just  _please_  don’t leave.”

Dean let out a small laugh that resulted into him breaking back into a small bout of tears. “It’s just easier, Cas. I can’t just stay here in this castle while you’re married to somebody else, silently in love with you. I can’t live that way. That’s not who I am.”

“Sure, but you don’t have to  _leave_.”

“If I don’t leave then I’ll never move on. I just want to sail somewhere far away and fall in love all over again. But this time I’ll be able to love them as wholly and fully as I want, because loving another man won’t be wrong wherever I’m going. And being in love won’t be this  _hard_  because I’m going to find somebody who won’t have to live a life of lies in order to love me back.”

“No, Dean…you  _can’t_. You can’t go off and fall in love with somebody  _else_. That’s not how this works…that’s not  _fair_.”

“ _Fair_?” Dean cried. “You think this isn’t fair for  _you_?”

“It’s the same for me, Dean. I know I can’t love you like I want to but I’m willing to risk everything I have to be with y-”

“I’ve thought of every possible outcome, Cas.” Dean broke in. “And every outcome ends with my head on a spike. I just want to get out of his city, okay? I need to get away from this all and find somebody of my own to marry. I’m an idiot for letting this stupid thing between us get this far, and I’m so, so, sorry.”

“ _Sorry_?” Castiel began to cry too. “You’re sorry for making me fall in love with you? Well then I guess I’m sorry too. I’m sorry for ruining your life. I’m sorry for being born into this blood line. I’m sorry that I couldn’t be somebody else. I’m sorry that I fell in love with you; that I care about you; that, if I was given the choice, I wouldn’t chose to spend the rest of my days with anybody other than you. But most of all I’m sorry I couldn’t be good enough to make you stay.”

“You know I don’t mean it like that.” Dean said sternly. “I just can’t handle living this way anymore.”

“I want  _you_  just as much as you want  _me_ , Dean.”

“I know that, Cas. But we can’t have each other, so I’m going to find somebody else. I’m done with secrecy. I’m done with royalty. I’m done with acting as if I don’t care anymore.”

“Are you expecting me to just  _forget_  you?” Castiel cried as he sat himself down on his bed. Dean sat beside him.

“No, Cas, of course not. I know for a fact I’ll never forget you. I mean, how many people can say they fucked a prince?” Dean laughed weakly, wiping a rogue tear from his chin with his hand

Castiel let out a short but genuine laugh. There was a long pause, broken by Castiel saying, “You know I love you, right?”

Dean nodded. “And I love you too – probably will for a  _very_  long time. But I promise you that one day you’ll thank me for leaving you. But for now, you’ve got to put up with me until this darn war is won – you better defeat Bartholomew, that son-of-a-bitch, or else what am I going to tell the people I meet? I don’t fancy telling them I let my prince get defeated by his shit-filled father, okay? You gotta win this war for me.”

“Okay.” Castiel smiled sadly and wiped his eyes. “But just because I’m agreeing to this it doesn’t mean I’m okay with it.”

Dean stood up and pulled Castiel to his feet. “Can I have one last kiss before I hand you over to a demon for the rest of eternity?”

The prince looked up at him shyly and pulled himself up onto his toes. He opened his mouth to reply, but suddenly Dean’s mouth was on his own, moving slowly, moving hard. Dean’s hands pulled desperately through the prince’s hair and the prince closed his eyes hard, willing himself to remember how this moment felt to be sure he’d never forget it. He memorised the taste of Dean’s breath, the feeling of his squire’s hands running though his hair, the feeling of being so close to somebody he needed more than he could possibly fathom into words.

Just as Castiel reached up to place a hand on Dean’s neck, they were startled by a piercing scream coming from what sounded like the dining hall.

“Fuck.” Castiel muttered as he pushed away from Dean and broke into a run. “That sounded like Meg.”


	10. Chapter 10

Castiel broke into a run down the marble staircase, only to be joined by Dean seconds later slightly out of breath, clutching the prince’s sword in one hand and his own in the other.

“Don’t forget your sword this time.” Dean winked as they reached the bottom. "I think you might need it."

***

Fear-struck wedding guests were piling out of the dining hall, and the prince had to rely on Dean pushing a path way through them. Once they entered the dining hall they found the Queen and Meg sitting over the body of who appeared to be Balthazar, with King Bartholomew standing a couple of meters away clutching a silver dagger laced with blood.

“What did you DO?” Castiel yelled at the man, his father, who showed no sign of remorse whatsoever, nearly no emotion at all.

“I did what had to be done,  _Castiel_.” His father spat. “You and your little schemes to overthrow me…did you really think I’d never find out? Who do you think left that letter in my desk drawer?  _I_  did. I knew you’d find it there and I knew you’d be so stupid as to believe it. Well, of course all of it was true. I  _was_  planning on creating an empire. I’d be unstoppable if Hell and the Stone City joined as one. But of course I’d never share the power with a sister of mine…if I even  _had_  a sister.” The king laughed. “But of course you’d get Balthazar in on it. I always thought he was so loyal to me…but I was obviously deceived. Well now he’s out of the equation – he never would’ve been a good king anyway. Too  _selfless_.”

“You killed your  _son_.” Castiel spat, clutching his sword so hard that his fingers began to burn. The urge to break into tears tugged at his throat, but he knew it wasn't the right time to cry.

“I was defending my throne…I made him pay the price of attempted treason. Just as you will.  _Guards – grab him_.”

The prince suddenly found himself swarmed by guards. Dean fought against them in a somewhat futile attempt to free him, only to lose his footing and be shoved hard to the floor.

“GET OFF ME!” Castiel shrieked as he wrestled against the grip they had on him. “LET GO!”

“BART!” The queen screamed at her husband. “Stop this. You know what will happen if you push him too hard!”

“Can’t you see? He’s already turned! No normal boy would plot to overthrow his father. He turned because he’s a selfish little monster, just like Crowley. He turned because there’s never been a trace of humanity inside of him.”

“NO.” Castiel spat “NO. I may not be human, but lack of humanity certainly isn’t the reason I turned. I turned because of  _you_. Because  _you_  never treated me like a human being. All of this…it’s all because of  _you_.” He continued to fight against the guards as his father neared closer, dagger in hand. “LET GO OF ME!”

“SMOKE OUT!” Crowley yelled at him from across the room. “Smoke out the way we did when I took you to Hell, we’ll meet you in the hills with our troops.”

“I DON’T KNOW HOW!” the young prince screamed as his father approached him, knife outstretched.

"You're a demon, Castiel. Figure it out."

“DO IT.” Dean encouraged his prince. “Get the hell out of here!”

“I  _can’t_.” Castiel cried. "I've never-"

Bartholomew reached out and grabbed a fistful of the young prince’s hair. “You really thought you could defy me? You’re just a piece of shit – you’re  _nothing_  to this kingdom.”

“Get your hands off me.” Castiel growled, seething with fury. “Get your hands off of me right now.”

He looked up at his father with such livid anger that he felt it rippling through his veins, spreading through every atom, every molecule of his being. Just as his father raised the knife to the young prince’s throat, the anger reached a fever pitch he found himself elbowing one of the guards hard in the nose, feeling it crunch beneath his elbow. Bartholomew made a swing with the knife but before Castiel could think about what he was doing he felt a hand on his arm - it was Crowley's - and his body jerked painfully from one side to the other until he was moving at what felt like a thousand miles per hour, only to be joined by three streams of thick black smoke as the four of them smashed through the window.

Before he could process what had just happened, Castiel landed hard against the floor, thankfully on his feet this time, and looked out at the thousands of men he was leading into battle. He gave a brief nod of thanks to Crowley for getting him out of the castle who nodded briefly back. Slowly he stepped forwards and felt the three demons standing behind him, waiting for their prince - Prince Castiel of the Stone City, third heir to Hell - to give the orders.

The prince took a deep breath and grabbed his sword from the sheath on his belt before clearing his throat.

“Balthazar is dead.” Castiel announced to his armies. There was little response from the demons, but a murmur arose from the cavalry. “But he hasn’t died for nothing. We planned for this battle to occur in the coming weeks, but our plan was uncovered by my father and his men. The only thing we have left is the promise of defeating him – if we fail, the kingdoms we know now will diminish and we will likely all die at the hands of a man much worse than any other.”

Crowley stepped forwards and handed the reins of a grey horse to the young prince, who quickly mounted it.

“So carry your weapons, and feel no remorse for whomever may cross your path in my city. The men we are to fight do not deserve our mercy. They will perish as they deserve.”

Crowley mounted his own horse and looked out at the soldiers. “Men, it’s truly been an honour. But now we must face war. Bonne chance, mon amis.”

"Many of us may die tonight. We will lose friends, family, acquaintances and loved ones." Castiel said. "But none of our men will die in vain. We will die with honor."

Castiel and the King of Hell turned around on their horses to see archers line the roof of the castle, ready to fire with flaming arrows. “Dean’s still in there.” Castiel muttered. "We've got to do this."

There was a long silence and Castiel could feel the tension building up in his blood. He closed his eyes briefly in a dire attempt to steady his heart beat, then gave Crowley the nod of approval. It was time.

Crowley pulled his own sword from his belt and a rumble of impatience rippled through the lines of soldiers sitting in anticipation of battle beside them. 

“FORWARD!” Crowley ordered.

There was a rumble of hooves against the hillside and suddenly a sea of men began to gallop fast past them brandishing shields with swords outstretched. The wind tore through Castiel's hair and battered hard against his face as his horse galloped fast down the hillside as he struggled to keep the anxiety from overcoming him. He knew he couldn't back down. Not now. Dean was still in that castle and Castiel knew that he had to at least ensure his safety before he sought for safety of the kingdom. The prince promised himself that the first thing he'd do once he got into the castle would be to help Dean escape the battle - he'd direct him to safety so that he would be out of harm, so that he'd be able to leave the city like he wanted to. And then he'd pursue his father; then he'd take down the king.

***

Castiel kicked his horse into a gallop, rearing high before proceeding down towards the men riding directly into the sea of flaming arrows that came down on them like a shower of hellish rain. Castiel watched in horror as men fell from their horses impaled through their skulls or chests or legs, and narrowly missed one arrow that shot little than an inch past his head.

Soldiers swarmed into the Stone City and into the castle grounds, only to finally be met by the opposing forces as they continued forwards. One soldier, a guard Castiel recognised from where he was young, came riding fast towards him swinging an axe to his left. Castiel wasted no time in slamming his own sword into his neck, slicing his head clean from his shoulders, blood splattering over his face. He briefly wiped it from his eyes before perusing on towards the entrance of the castle.

He looked around at the chaos ensuing round him. Behind him a demon grabbed a Stone City soldier by the arm and ripped it clean off, before proceeding to drive a sword through his throat. To his left a demon was being stabbed repeatedly by one of his father’s soldiers. Castiel wasted no time in galloping past and taking the soldier out by stabbing him hard in the back of the neck. The demon looked up at the prince with fearful gratitude before scurrying off out of sight. Castiel didn’t know how much longer he’d survive with that many stab wounds, but he prayed to the four gods for his safety anyway as he neared the castle gates.

He was only metres away from the castle door when all of a sudden what appeared to be water was thrown over the men standing at the bottom. Then a match was thrown onto the puddle below, and the men blew up into flames. Castiel was knocked from his horse by the sheer force of the explosion, then covered himself with his arms as flaming men stumbled over him, desperately fighting to extinguish the flames that engulfed them. Once he was sure the flaming men were gone, he climbed to his feet only to be knocked down again by a rogue horse that had lost it’s rider.

He found himself being abruptly pulled to his feet by one of Hell’s demons. Castiel looked up to thank him, only to bear witness to the moment his torso was sliced open and his intestines poured out onto the floor before him.

The castle doors were unguarded and the prince made a break for it, sword in hand jumping fast through the ravage flames that cut off the castle from the outside world, until he was finally within the once-safe confines of his home. He looked back out as men were being mercilessly slaughtered outside, but it was no different inside. There were bodies lying dismembered across the floor in puddles of their own filth and blood, and men were brutally killing those they had once fought alongside once upon a time, up against the walls.

He made his way quickly down the hallway towards the dining hall in search of Dean. There were so many bodies that had been brutally disfigured lying strewn across the floor…any of them could’ve been Dean. In fact he could’ve easily been one of the flaming men he’d narrowly escaped being trampled on by.

He found himself staggering down an emptier part of the castle that the fighting had not reached yet and fell to the floor of the kitchens out of breath, sword still gripped tight in his right hand. Just as he was about to pull himself to his feet again he spotted someone cowering over in the corner, knees pulled up to their chin as they shook with fear.

“Mother?”

“Castiel!” The queen cried.

The young prince crawled over to where she was hiding and pulled her into a quick but reassuring hug. “Are you hurt? Did father hurt you?”

She shook her head quickly. “No. He hasn’t touched me…he thinks I’m on his side. But you’ve got to get out of here, Castiel. Just run…escape from his battle. Your men can fight without you.”

“No.” Castiel said. “I can’t abandon my men. I need to fight alongside them. I need to defeat father myself.”

“You’ll get hurt…or  _die_.” She cried.

Castiel looked over at her and sighed. “Maybe I will, mother, but at least I wouldn’t have died in vain. Where’s Dean? Do you know where he went after I left?”

“I don’t know for certain, Castiel, but I have feeling he’s going to attempt to take your father down himself.”

“ _What_? How can you be sure?”

“I watched him as your father directed me to a hiding spot. He wouldn’t take his eyes of him…like he was just waiting for the right moment. I never saw him head out to fight like the rest of the guards.”

“Father…where is  _he_?”

“I don’t know, I-”

“Tell me where he is.” Castiel said sternly. “I  _need_  to know.”

“He’s in his quarters. He should be alone…he ordered for none of his men to follow him so he could be on his own. He wants to be the one to kill you himself. No interference.”

Castiel nodded in understanding and climbed to his feet. “Hide in the south stables. If you can be certain that you’ve not been seen, flee into the forest and wait for light. This will all be over in the morning.”

“I’ll hide here. I’ll be okay.” The queen insisted.

“The fighting is spreading fast over the castle, mother. I’m ordering you to do what I tell you.”

“Okay…just be safe.”

“I will.”

 

The prince took off back towards the fighting and found himself nearly tripping over a rogue limb that lay discarded in a trail of blood down the empty hallway. He stopped dead in his tracks and listened hard; he could’ve sworn he could hear somebody else breathing…

He turned around just in time to see one of the King’s guards run fast at him. The guard elbowed him hard in the chest which winded him and sent him flying hard into the ground.

One punch to the face.

And another to the jaw.

Then again.

And finally one more, before the prince could find enough strength to push him off and punch him back – one right hook across the jaw. The guardsman looked him dead in the eye and spat blood out onto the floor before charging right at him again. Only this time, the prince managed to outstretch his sword just in time to impale him clean through the stomach. The guard fell silent as he choked up blood, before finally falling farther forwards down the blade; Castiel huffed and kicked the skewered guard from the end of his sword before carrying on towards where his father sat in waiting.

As he approached the marble staircase he narrowly avoided being struck by a guard’s sword. The prince lunged towards him at slammed his sword hard into his oppressor’s thigh. He fell to the floor in a scream of agony and Castiel kicked him once in the face to silence him, before carrying on up the staircase.

There was hardly a man in sight up there – in fact the corridors seemed eerily silent, and the sleepy warmth from the setting sun that seemed to wash over the castle floors made Castiel almost forget that his kingdoms were at war.

“DEAN?” The prince called.

No response.

“ _DEAN_?!”

The prince noticed a shadow fade down the end of the corridor towards his father’s quarters, and decided to pursue it in the hope it was Dean. He followed close to the wall, sword ready to be used if he was approached by an opposing force, until he came to the tall red doors of his father’s quarters.

Gingerly he pushed the doors open and found Dean standing there meters away from the king, both armed.

“Dean? What are you  _doing_?”

“I’m doing what needs to be done.” Dean answered. “I’m liberating you from this  _bastard_.”

“ _Don’t_.” Castiel commanded. “ _I_  need to do this. You’ll just get hurt.”

“Who cares if I get hurt? I’ll leave this kingdom one way or another: dead or alive. If I die tonight it would’ve been for a cause I truly believe in.”

“I’m not letting you do this.” Castiel said. “Stand down.”

“You truly are pathetic _, Castiel_.” Bartholomew spat. “What’s a war without a little blood?”

Castiel shook his head slowly. “If you dare hurt him, father, I will  _never_  forgive you.”

“Why does it even matter if you forgive me or not? You’re going to die either way." The king said.

“If any one of us dies in this room tonight, it will be you, father.”

“Listen to yourself.” The king laughed. “You act as if you’re so strong when in actual fact you’re nothing more than a child! If you really thought you could defeat me I’d be dead by now. You’re  _nothing_. You’re weak…and you deserve to die more than any other man, or  _boy_ , in this kingdom.”

“Don’t. You. Dare. Talk to him like that.” Dean muttered.

“Didn’t quite hear you there.” The king teased.

“Leave. Him. Alone.”

Dean was seething. Castiel could tell by the way he stood so still, so mistakenly complacent, as his jaw flexed with every word the king spoke.

“Sorry…could you speak up a bit?”

Dean stayed silent.

So silent.

Just waiting.

And watching.

Until Bartholomew took one step towards his young son, and Dean completely lost all will to contain himself. He swung his sword hard towards the king, only to be met by an equally as brutal kick to the groin. The boy fell to his knees in agony and looked up as the king raised his sword high, and before Castiel could do anything to stop it, plunged it straight through Dean’s heart.

“DEAN!” Castiel screamed, dropping to his squire’s side.

Dean looked up at him in a daze, life slowly draining from him with each second that passed. “C-cas.”

“It’s okay. You’ll be okay. Look…we can stop the bleeding.” Castiel said desperately as Dean fell into him. The prince shrugged out of his own jacket and held it against Dean’s chest in a futile attempt to save him. But the blood just kept flowing. And Castiel’s hands began to shake. And Dean just used what little energy he had left within him to push Castiel’s hands from his wound and just accept that that was the end.

“C-as.” Dean choked. “I’m so-orry. So…s-sorry.”

“Shh.” Castiel soothed, stroking his cheek with his thumb. “It’s okay.”

“I…I’m…so sorry.”

“Stop that.” Castiel begged, voice wrecked and ruined. “Stop saying sorry.”

“I just…I needed to make th-things right for, for y-you.” Dean’s said as his mouth began to fill with blood. “But I…fucked it u-up.”

Castiel held his head carefully as he laid him down on the ground. Dean winced in pain and Castiel couldn’t believe the amount of blood that had pooled around them both. “It’s  _okay_.” The prince cried, wiping desperate tears from his face with his sleeve.

Dean’s eyes threatened to close and Castiel responded by desperately stroking his face again. “Stay awake. Stay with me. I’m here. Look at me, Dean. Keep your eyes on me.”

Dean looked up at him and the prince watched as a tear escaped from the corner of his eye. “I’m sorry f-for leaving y-you. Like, like th-this.”

Castiel couldn’t bear to hear another word. Seeing Dean like that, dying and hopeless, was never something he had ever dreamed of having to witness. It felt as if he had been impaled through the heart too – and a part of him wished he had – because he couldn’t possibly imagine a world without Dean. A world where Dean’s breath didn’t mix with the air…a world where Dean’s laughter wasn’t carried in the wind…a world without _Dean_.

The prince held him at arm’s length and watched as his eyes finally closed and his body fell limp. “NO!” Castiel cried, desperately shaking him. “Dean…no…please. Please don’t…don’t…no,  _Dean_ …”

“I’m sorry…” Dean said finally, life fading. “ _Cas_ …”

Castiel looked down at him and stroked his final tear away with shaking hands as his body finally began to grow cold. He was gone. He was dead. He would never look at his prince again, or kiss him, or tell him how much living meant to him with Castiel by his side. That was it. That was their goodbye. Dean had said that he wanted to leave and Castiel had known that he’d never be able to stop him once he’d made that decision…and now he was gone. Irreversibly and irrevocably gone.

He looked across at the nothingness in front of him and closed his eyes tight shut, wishing that everything around him would just fall to dust, himself included, so that he’d never have to let the situation settle within him. He wanted Dean’s face, Dean’s smile, fresh in his mind every day for the rest of his life, but now all he saw when he focused on the nothingness was the faraway look in Dean’s eyes as he took his final breath. Slowly he exhaled, and felt his heart shudder. He could’ve easily just took a sword to his own throat and ended it all right then, but something gripped him inside and he found himself paralysed with despair, agony, and utter hopelessness.

All he wanted, more than anything, was to relive every moment Dean had been there by his side. Every moment they'd kissed, every moment they'd touched...he wanted to relive every single word Dean had said to him. Every compliment. Every ramble. Every 'I love you'. Even every argument, because no emotion that could possibly have come with arguing with Dean could amount the absolute anguish that comes with knowing it will never happen again. He'd happily fight with Dean every second for the rest of his life than not have Dean alive at all, because at least when they were fighting, Dean was still there. Even if it did hurt like hell - at least he'd feel  _something_.

But that was it. Dean was dead, and Castiel couldn’t quite work out how to process it, until he became increasingly aware of his father standing close behind him, clutching a silver sword painted with Dean’s blood.

“ _You_.” Castiel breathed as he forced himself to his feet to look over at his father. He felt his eyes flash black as his sword hung limply in his hand until his fingers couldn’t bear to hold it anymore, and it fell to the bloody marble ground with a loud clank that bounced off the walls. The air suddenly grew cold and Castiel swore he couldn’t feel  _anything_  anymore. “You  _killed_  him.”

Bartholomew stood tall, not a single word on his lips. Not an apology. Or a retort. Or  _anything_.

“ _You_ ,” Castiel spat, pointing hard at him.

Bartholomew looked up suddenly, seemingly taken aback as if he’d been shoved by an invisible force.

“ _You killed Dean_.” Castiel growled taking a step forwards. "My squire. My _friend_."

Bartholomew coughed desperately bringing a hand up to his throat. “What…what are you d-doing to me?”

“You  _monster_.” Castiel breathed, jaw tightening, body tensing up.

The king’s face began to redden and he opened his mouth to speak again, only to find that his throat had started to tighten harder. He coughed desperately, begging for his son to stop doing whatever the hell it was he was doing to him, only to find the force growing stronger.

But Castiel didn’t stop. He just focused all his anger…all his energy…every inch of his being that craved vengeance for Dean’s death…all of it was pin-pointed on the king in front of him.

Bartholomew fell to his knees, hands to his throat, as his face began to grow purple.

The prince grabbed his sword from where it had fallen into Dean’s blood and took a step forwards. The king cowered, desperately begging through coughs and gasps for breaths for his son to just  _stop_.

Castiel held his sword out and placed the bloodied tip of it to his father’s throat.

“This is for every damn time you laid a finger on me, and made me feel like I was nothing to this world. This is for every second of pain you put me through, ever since I was born. This is for Dean. This is for Balthazar. And this is for every other innocent man who ever lost his life at the hand of  _you_.”

Without a moment of doubt the prince shoved the sword hard through his father’s throat and jerked it hard to the left with a horrific, yet horrifically satisfying crunch, causing the king’s head to fall to one side and tear from his body, landing inches from the prince’s feet. Castiel picked it up by the hair and marched out of the king’s quarters and back down the hall ways where he could still hear the sound of men being needlessly slaughtered.

He stood at the top of the marble staircase and held the head up high, blood running down his arms. “EVERYBODY!” He shouted to the men that could hear. “KING BARTHOLOMEW OF THE STONE CITY IS  _DEAD_.”

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Epilogue**

Castiel was sat on the water’s edge of the castle’s gardens, watching the way the water from the valley peacefully lapped the pebbled shore. The air was cooler down there than it was back up in the castle – and the whole atmosphere seemed a whole lot more serene.

Ever since the battle had been fought a couple of weeks ago, Castiel had been spending a lot of his time there, just watching the water. Meg only came occasionally – she was usually busy caring for Azazel who had lost both his legs during the fight, rendering him unable to care for himself; Crowley had rarely left his castle in Hell since the fight either. But Castiel preferred being alone now, anyway. There was nobody he’d rather be with than himself, just blocking out anything that found it’s way into his head as he just  _sat_  lifelessly. That’s all he could do since the war – breathe without living, exist without existing.

He couldn’t even face going back to any of the places he’d used to spend time with his older brother, Balthazar. Since his funeral nearly a week ago - it was an intimate gathering for family and close friends only, but in the streets of the Stone City outside the castle, the kingdom's people stood in silence in mourning too. Castiel shuddered. Thinking of Balthazar was hard. Thoughts of Dean were agonizing too. Thinking of  _anything_  was unbearable.

He picked up a stone to throw into the water when he was disrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching him across the pebbles. He picked himself up and turned around to see his mother walking slowly towards him, wrapped in a thin black cloak.

"You're grieving for a man who betrayed your kingdom? A man who sought to kill his sons?"

"It's my duty to grieve, Castiel. Besides, I did love him once upon a time." She sighed as she stopped beside him.

The prince gave a small nod and kicked a stone with his foot. He realised that he was still wearing the boots that Balthazar had given him on his wedding day. “Any news on Gabriel’s whereabouts?” 

The queen shook her head and looked out at the water. “No. He fled the kingdom once the fighting started. It’s unlikely he’ll ever return…if he’s even alive out there, of course.”

Castiel nodded and continued to throw his stone hard out into the water. It landed with a small splash and the water quickly recovered back to how it had been seconds before. “Is it time?”

The queen nodded. “It’s time.”

 ***

Castiel walked with his mother further down the shore to where a small wooden jetty stood jutting out a few metres into the water. Sitting in the water at the end of the jetty was a small wooden raft carrying Dean’s body wrapped up in a while cloth, decorated with flowers. Standing at the water’s edge were two unfamiliar faces: a tall dark-haired man with stubble and kind face like Dean’s, and a younger boy, maybe fourteen years old, standing grey faced looking down at his feet as the prince approached them. With them stood the priest that Castiel recognised from his wedding.

“Your grace.” The man bowed as Castiel stopped by them.

“Please…you don’t need to address me like that. I’m not the king. ‘Castiel’ will do.” the prince said awkwardly.

“If Gabriel is not found by the end of the week, you will have to accept the crown as your own.” The queen reminded him. “You  _will_  be king soon.”

Castiel sighed and extended a hand towards the young boy, who took it and shook it weakly. “You must be Sam. Dean told me a lot about you.”

The young boy looked up and nodded. “He spoke a lot about you too.”

Castiel then reached out to shake the hand of the older man. “And you must be John, Dean’s father.”

John smiled weakly. “I am.”

“Shall we proceed?” the priest asked, stepping forwards.

Castiel nodded and took his place beside Sam, his mother stood to his left, as the priest handed a candle to John.

The prince closed his eyes and let his mind fill with the sound of the priest’s voice as it carried in the gentle breeze.

“Time has passed, the wheel has turned. It is time for you, Sir Dean Winchester, servant to the City of Stone, Knighted after Death, to move on. You will walk hand in hand with the lord and lady, the four gods, and with your ancestors who came before you.” There was a brief, unbearable pause as the priest picked up a small white candle and handed it to John. “Those of us left behind shall indeed mourn his death, but we shall also know that his soul and spirit is returning back to the four gods, and that he shall be made whole again. We shall cry, but we shall also laugh, for we shall celebrate the life that had been given to Dean, and let him also know that as we now may be apart, that we shall also meet again.

“And we now, with this candle, we respect the flame of Dean's life. And though these candle flames shall die out, we know that Dean shall live on, and his flame shall never cease to burn.”

Dean’s father stepped forwards with the candle in hand and knelt down at the end of the jetty. He held the candle to the corner of the blanket his son’s body was wrapped in until the flames took hold of him and began to burn delicately on their own. He then cut the ropes anchoring the burning raft and pushed it gently out into the water.

Castiel felt his eyes begin to grow heavy again as he watched the raft float away slowly, engulfed in the tall golden flames that would guide him to the afterlife of the God he’d chosen. Dean would choose the God of Spring to spend his eternity with, Castiel decided. Dean always seemed to remind Castiel of spring - the season in which they first met. Maybe it was the green of his eyes or the warmth to his touch…or maybe it was the way he always made Castiel feel so alive when he was around.

It only seemed fitting that that was where he’d end up spending his eternity. It was summer now, but Dean would always belong in the spring.

 


End file.
